Scorned
by mossley
Summary: Finished. Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. GS.
1. Ch 1

**Scorned **

**Summary: **Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.

**A/N:** Thanks to Burked for her support and friendship. She, Ann and Marlou all beta-ed, but all mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4.

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer**: Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

Instinctively, Sara braced against the dashboard as the Denali lurched to the side, wincing at the waves of pain that radiated up her arms. She swore quietly as she flexed the wrist that bore the brunt of the jarring motion. 

"Sorry," Warrick said softly, swinging the wheel hard to bring the SUV back onto the gravel path. He kept his eyes focused forward, looking for more of the deep ruts, but he could tell a deadly glare was being directed his way.

"Admit it: you are so lost."

"Not according to the GPS," he answered smoothly, briefly taking his eyes off of the road to flash Sara an amused smile. "Or to the woman reading the maps."

She snorted in reply. They'd spent the last 45 minutes inching down an access road to a mine located well outside of the city limits. The mine in question had been closed for the better part of 40 years, and the gravel road definitely showed signs of neglect.

"How the hell did anyone find a body out here?"

"I'm more interested in how someone _got_ a body out here."

"If this turns out to be another gorilla someone dumped from a plane, I am going to be so pissed," she muttered as they hit another bone-jarring rut.

"Like you're so cheerful now."

"Bite me," Sara said with a grin.

"Uh, uh. My grandma didn't raise no fool. Hey, look," Warrick said, nodding to a flashing light visible as the Denali crested a hill. Around the police SUV, a group of a dozen people milled about, visibly shaken.

Detective Vartan held out a helping hand as they cautiously made their way down the incline, sending sprays of pebbles and sand flying ahead of them.

"Ready to rock?" he quipped.

"I don't think this was a rave that went wrong," Sara said, looking at the crowd, then smiling at Vartan.

"Nah. Group of rock hounds were on their way to the old Grier Mine, looking for some kind of special quartz. They found a body down in a gully," Vartan said, nodding toward the yellow tape marking the edge of the depression.

"Anyone touch the body?" Warrick asked.

"Not according to them. They saw the body from up top, but didn't go down to check on him. It's obvious he's dead."

"Any ID?" Sara asked as they headed to the gully.

"Nope, body's nude. I think he was shot."

"Think?"

The detective shrugged in Warrick's direction. "The bugs and animals have already started working on the body. He's pretty messed up, but he hasn't started to swell."

"Probably out here less than a week then," Sara concluded. "Anyone from the coroner's office been here yet?"

"Nah. David called about 15 minutes ago. Some suicide at Lake Mead. The body's stuck on something. He's running late."

"Tell him not to bother," Warrick said. "That van of his will never make it down the road. You better call for an airlift to get the body out of here."

"Have fun," Vartan said as the two CSIs walked further along the edge of the gully before picking a spot to climb down. They approached the body slowly, sweeping the area with their flashlights, looking for any evidence.

"Oh, damn," Sara said when a gentle breeze brought the putrid smell of rotting flesh towards them.

"At least he's not a liquid man."

"Yeah. There's nothing here. No shoeprints. No tire tracks. It hasn't rained lately; there should be something. Ugh," Sara added as rats scurried from the body as they neared.

"I thought you liked recycling."

"You're as bad as Grissom."

"That's cold," Warrick deadpanned, tilting his head as their lights played over the victim's feet and legs. "Feet aren't torn up. He didn't walk out here barefoot."

"It was hard enough getting here alive. I can't imagine trying it while carrying a body."

"And the guy looks buff."

"Would have taken some definite muscle then," Sara said as she examined the sides of the ravine for signs that someone brought a body down.

"No kidding," he said, tilting his head as he ran his light up the torso. Maggots and beetles slithered around three separate openings in the chest. It was evident the rats weren't the only creatures to have snacked on their victim; large pieces of flesh were missing, clearly ripped from the body.

Stepping closer, he shined the light on the victim's face. Warrick wrinkled his nose as he took in the bugs that crawled though the eye sockets, mouth and nostrils, the flesh in the surrounding areas undulating as bugs crawled under the skin. The damage to the soft tissue distorted the features, but not enough to prevent identification.

A cold chill passed through him, and he quickly pulled the light away from the face.

He wasn't fast enough.

"Shit. Oh, shit," Sara whispered, backing away and shaking her head, her own flashlight falling from her numb fingers. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she doubled over, clearly fighting the bile that was rising.

Reeling, Sara made her way back down the gully, scrambling up the slope. Once on top, she ignored the startled detective's helping hand, heading away from the crime scene as fast as she could move while doubled over.

"What the hell?" Vartan said as Warrick flew by him. His confusion turned to worry when Sara stumbled on the rocky ground, ignoring her injury as she staggered towards the Denali. She made it most of the way before falling to the ground again, this time vomiting repeatedly.

"Easy, girl, easy," Warrick said soothingly, dropping to the ground behind her. He stroked her back softly until her stomach was empty. Then, he helped her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He opened the rear door to the SUV, gently pushing Sara into the seat.

"Sorry," she said lowly. "I … I."

"Shhhh. Don't worry about it," he said, grabbing a bottle of water from his stash in the rear of the vehicle. "Here. You take it easy. I'll take care of it."

Pulling out his cell phone, he sighed as Vartan gave him a questioning look.

"Sara sick?" the detective asked in confusion. He'd seen the body; it was gross. Dead bodies, as a rule, usually were. It came with the job. He couldn't imagine a CSI with as much experience as Sara would be bothered by the sight of one.

"Hold on," Warrick said, his hand held out as he talked into the cell phone. "Grissom – it's Warrick. Give me a call ASAP. We have a … problem out here."

"What problem?" Vartan asked, his tone becoming professional, though his expression was compassionate as he glanced back towards Sara.

"Our vic? Sara knows … knew him. His name is Hank Peddigrew."

_TBC_


	2. Ch 2

**Scorned **  
**Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Ann for the input on the multiple versions of this chapter! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Look, what's killing me going to accomplish?"

"Huh?"

"Dammit, Gil! Watch the road," Catherine exclaimed as the SUV bobbed dangerously over a deep hole in the path. "Sara's already freaked. Seeing two more corpses she knows tonight? Probably not a good thing."

"Sorry."

Catherine watched her friend in confusion as he eased off the accelerator, slowing their speed from certain death to imminent demise. She braced as they hit another rut, trying to get a handle on his behavior. Something just didn't add up.

Their shift had started out calmly enough. She and Gil had been investigating a bomb found at an art gallery. A threat of an explosion was never a good thing in a town that relied on tourism, and the gallery was one of the mayor's pet projects. Sheriff Atwater had been hounding them, but at least she hadn't been in any danger of having all her fillings rattled loose.

An already irritated Grissom had been talking to the gallery owners when Warrick's call came through. Playing the message back a few minutes later, he became irked to learn there was a 'problem'. Catherine was bagging evidence while he returned the call, but she'd looked up in time to see his expression change. Before the phone was back in his pocket, Grissom had practically dragged her to the Denali. He'd briefly explained that Sara knew the DB, and it had upset her, but he'd been silent the rest of the trip.

"What the hell are we doing out here?" she eventually asked, waving her hand to indicate their surroundings.

Grissom glanced at her in confusion. "Sara can't work this case, and I don't want to leave Warrick stranded out here without a vehicle."

"So why drag me along? Atwater's going to be pissed we left our case. Remember? The important one?"

"The techs can handle the photographs and printing for a little while. And you'll be switching cases with Sara."

"Oh, goody," Catherine said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. "I get a rank DB – in the middle of the desert on a day that will have record high temps – instead of a high-profile case in an air conditioned building."

Grissom gave her a brief stare. "It'll be quiet. Atwater won't be bothering you out here."

"One – I'm not the one that's politically tone deaf. I can deal with Atwater. Two – Where is _here_ anyway? I never even knew this road existed."

"The desert is littered with these old mine roads. Most are closed off."

"Gee, I wonder why," she said as they cleared another bump. "Perfect place to dump a body."

"Not quite," Grissom pointed out. "This one got found."

"Talk about luck. Dammit, Gil! This isn't a roller coaster! Slow down," Catherine hissed as they bounced over a series of ruts.

"It's not that bad."

"Yeah, well if you break an axle, you're the one walking back for a tow truck."

"Cell phones, Catherine."

"Uh, huh," she replied, her look indicating he'd be walking anyway, for his own safety. After a moment, she looked at him in confusion. "So, I'll be switching cases with Sara. Got it. Why are _you_ here?"

As she suspected, the question caught Grissom off guard. Things involving Sara usually did. Catherine had known him for over a decade, but this was one area about her friend that she made no claims of understanding.

Despite an obvious mutual attraction, Gil had never attempted to make a move on Sara. When she finally started dating someone else, it looked like he'd given up on the idea. Even after they broke up, Gil hadn't expressed an interest, instead spending the better part of the last two years distancing himself from Sara.

But all it took was something involving her for Grissom's mask of indifference to slip. He'd been obsessed when Sara's double, Debbie Marlin, had been murdered, working himself into near-exhaustion. Now, something had affected her deeply enough to become ill, and he had them flying like a bat out of hell down what could double as a path to hell.

"Gil?" she asked again.

"If Sara's ill, she shouldn't be driving," Grissom finally answered, the muscles in his jaw working.

The action didn't escape her notice. He was concerned about something. Catherine's forehead wrinkled as an idea came to her. Rumors in the department moved impossibly fast. Everyone knew he'd been called to get Sara from the police station after she'd been stopped.

"You're not thinking that, well, maybe there's another reason Sara got sick are you?" Catherine ventured, surprised by his angry glare. "Eyes front, Gil. She had a bad day; it doesn't mean she has a problem."

"I never said she did."

"Ooooo-kay" she said, holding her hands up in defeat at the vehement reply. An angry Grissom wasn't something she was in the mood to deal with. Did he still care? Did he even know? Well, if he hadn't figured it out in the past four years, he wasn't likely to reach a decision in the next few minutes. "And take your foot off the damn accelerator."

They reached the crime scene shortly afterwards, parking near the other Denali, where Sara sat sideways on the back seat, her head hanging low. Grissom and Catherine approached, steering clear of the area where Sara had collapsed earlier.

"Warrick wasn't kidding about her being sick," Catherine muttered, exchanging a concerned look with Grissom. That hadn't been a mild reaction. "Hey! You okay?"

"Yeah," came a discomfited reply. "Sorry."

Grissom moved in front of her, his head cocked in thought. Sara had yet to look up at them. A slight smile formed as realization struck: of course Sara would find this embarrassing. Resting his hands on her arms, he squatted in front of her.

"Hey."

"Grissom?" Sara's head shot up, looking at her supervisor in surprise before dropping back down again. Warrick had told her Catherine would be coming. He hadn't said anything about Grissom. _And I didn't think tonight could get any worse. Bad enough I lost it at a scene. Some professional I am. Work's all I have, and I'm on shaky ground there. I've seen dead bodies before. _

_That wasn't 'a body'. That was Hank. _

_Is Hank. _

"Sara?"

She looked at Grissom, his look cutting through her. His eyes were dark with concern and tenderness._ For how long? Warrick must not of told him who the body … who we found. Now he decides to care. Damn it. Damn him. Why tonight? Why this case? _

Grissom's smile wavered as he noticed Sara's apprehensive look.

"Sorry," she repeated. "You, uh, you didn't have to come out here. You don't need to hang around."

"It's not a problem," he said softly, leaning back and running his eyes over her. The knees of her jeans were scuffed. Looking at her hands, he noticed the abrasions on the knuckles. He tried another smile as he lifted her hand, running a finger lightly over the damaged skin. When she pulled back like she'd been shocked, he became nervous. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing. Uh, Warrick's down with the body," she said, resorting to nodding in the direction of the ravine when Grissom refused to let go of her hand.

"Down there?" Catherine said, looking pointedly from the yellow tape back to where Sara had been ill. It took a lot of self-control to avoid being sick that long. There was no reason for her to be upset about it. But Sara was obviously tense, and Grissom's attention seemed to be making it worse.

What was she hiding?

"I didn't want to contaminate the evidence."

"You did good," Grissom said, feeling uncomfortable when Sara still refused to meet his eye. He knew things between them were strained, but did she really think he'd get angry over this? Hearing the sound of approaching footprints, he turned his head to watch as Vartan moved closer, catching sight of Warrick in the background as he climbed up the gully.

"Feeling better?" the detective asked kindly.

"Yeah. Guys, really. Don't make a big deal over this."

"Relax," Grissom said. "Was it a friend of yours?"

_Damn! Why couldn't he have left? He never could handle the fact I dated Hank. This is going to piss him off. I don't need to deal with Grissom's attitude on top of everything else tonight. _

"A Hank Peddigrew," Vartan offered when Sara looked away.

"Peddigrew?" Grissom repeated harshly, snapping his head towards the detective. Vartan looked confused, while he could make out Catherine mouthing a silent curse. "The EMT?"

Peddigrew? He frowned as he remembered the athletic, younger man she'd dated the previous year. _Her lover. Ex-lover. The one she picked over me. No wonder she doesn't want me around. Well, that makes two of us. _

Turning back to Sara, Grissom was shocked by the look of pain in her eyes. He'd inadvertently dropped her hand when he faced the detective. What was worse was the resignation in her eyes; she'd expected him to react this way.

"Yeah, the EMT," Sara whispered. "Only child. Has parents who are going to be heartbroken."

"Stay here," Grissom said, wincing as he stood. His words had sounded cold even to him.

"Sara handle any evidence?" he heard Catherine ask as he approached the group, ignoring the pointed looks directed his way.

"Nope."

"How close did she get to the body? Close enough to leave any trace?"

"Not that close," Warrick answered, giving Catherine an odd look.

"Why are you worried?" Vartan asked.

"It's nothing," Catherine answered vaguely, prompting the detective to stare at her in disbelief.

"And I graduated from the academy yesterday. You think Sara's a suspect?" he asked sardonically.

"No! Look, that's Sara's ex. If a defense attorney learns she handled the evidence on this case, they'll have a field day with it. You know. Reasonable doubt."

The three men continued to stare at her, but she didn't say any more. Vartan sighed as he fished a notebook from his jacket pocket. "Right. Excuse me for a minute."

"What's going on?" Grissom asked firmly as the detective walked away.

"Yeah, Cath," Warrick added. "They broke up over a year ago. It wasn't a blowout. Even a shyster couldn't stretch that tale in court."

Catherine shrugged, debating how much information to supply. As far as she knew, no one else knew Hank had been two-timing. But they had been lovers. Sara wasn't a player; there had to have been some feeling there. Even after a bad break up, you couldn't forget that. No wonder she had lost it.

Catherine couldn't help but remember how hard it had been to see Eddie in the morgue. She had been prepared for it, and he hadn't been left exposed for days to the elements and bugs, and the experience had been terrible.

Between finding Hank's body and Grissom's attitude, Sara's night was going bad enough. She didn't need any more grief, regardless if the truth might have been pertinent. If it had been another case.

It wasn't like Sara really was a suspect.

"Sara may have been low key about it, but I don't think she kept Hank on her Christmas card list," was all she said before moving to join her colleague.

Grissom watched as she retreated, rubbing his hand over his beard. Had there been troubles? Sara hadn't said anything, but she rarely talked about her private life._ To me anyway. _Catherine seemed to know more. Which was odd considering the two weren't that close. _Should I know these things?_

Wordlessly, he headed back to the Denali, fishing out his kit before moving back to where Vartan was trying to cheer Sara up. Tonight would not be a good night to work with her. He didn't want to face her when she was still upset over the death of her lover. _Ex-lover. It shocked her. Did she regret the breakup?_

"I need to ask you a few questions. If you'd rather wait ... okay. Had you seen Peddigrew recently?" Vartan asked.

"No. We didn't keep in touch. I'd see him at scenes sometimes. He works … worked … damn, as an EMT."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"At a bar fight, maybe two, three months ago. It was at, uh, Tequila Mockingbird. It's off the Strip."

"I remember that fight. Did you talk to him at the time?"

"Not really. He came over and said 'hi'. I was busy. Didn't have time to talk," Sara answered, recalling the night. Hank had actually been nice, contrite even. She'd been professional with him.

_I was a bitch. _

_No, I wasn't. I was busy. God, I never thought that would be the last time I'd see him. Alive. Not being eaten. Damn. _

Grissom watched as Sara gave her head a shake, wondering if a fresh wave of nausea was bothering her. Walking to Catherine, he handed her the keys. "You and Sara head back now. Warrick and I will handle this."

"I'm working the bomb case again?" she asked, disdain dripping from her voice. He'd nearly killed them getting here, but now he decides to avoid Sara.

Grissom resisted the urge to sigh when she glared at him. "You wanted to be in the air conditioning."

Catherine snorted as she grabbed the keys from his hand. "Oh, it's plenty cold here, now."

_TBC_


	3. Ch 3

**Scorned **  
**Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Ann for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

Chapter 3

As the Denali pulled away, a perplexed Grissom watched until it disappeared over the top of the hill, letting out a frustrated huff once it was out of sight. The night was shaping up to be one to remember – and not in a good way.

Dealing with the sheriff had been bad enough, but now he had an angry Catherine to contend with as well. She never hesitated to let him know when she was upset, and Grissom had no doubts that he'd be hearing more about it from her later.

He only wished he had a clue what had made her angry this time.

Catherine had made it clear that she preferred to work on the bomb case. She liked those high-profile cases, even though they drew meddling elected officials faster than a corpse attracted blowflies. Why had she reacted so strongly, then, when he gave it to her? She could have all the attention from the bigwigs that she wanted. Catherine was even going to be the primary.

It made no sense. Not that people often did.

Then there was Sara.

Catherine's earlier suspicions hadn't been entirely wrong. He did fear there was another factor contributing to Sara becoming ill at the scene. He didn't think it was alcohol, though, but something that could be equally destructive to her career: burnout.

When he'd taken her home after she'd been pulled over, his only supervisory response had been to insist that she take a vacation. Sara agreed readily, but Grissom wasn't sure if it was because she was too embarrassed or too relieved to argue. He wanted to think it was because she recognized she needed the break, but he couldn't be sure.

In hindsight, Grissom realized that Sara had a terrible year, going back to the lab explosion. So wrapped up in his own world, he hadn't noticed her retreating. The signs had been there: she hadn't laughed, she hadn't smiled, she hadn't approached the job with the same vigor and enthusiasm she once had.

He'd tried to bridge the gap, tried to repair the damage in their relationship, but Grissom worried he was too late. With all the times he pushed Sara away, it wasn't surprising she stayed away now. After she returned from vacation, the timing had never seemed right to broach the subject.

Of course, it was all probably moot. Tonight showed where Sara's feelings truly laid. Why else would she have reacted that way?

With a dejected sigh, Grissom turned back to the crime scene. Work had always been there for him in the past; it would have to do for the future. Ignoring the detective's questioning look, he indicated the group of witnesses.

"Who found the body?"

"I guess I did," said a middle-aged man. "Tim Fischer. I'm a geology professor at the university. Mark, Siobhan and Brian are students of mine," he said, pointing each out in turn. "The rest are members of a rock collecting club. We were walking past the gully when we noticed the smell. I looked over, saw that poor man, and then I called 911."

"What were you doing out here?"

"Twice a year, the owners let us into the Grier mine to get samples. We were on our way home."

"You didn't notice the body earlier?" Grissom asked.

"We didn't come this way," Fischer explained, pulling out a map from his back pocket. "It's crazy trying to come up that road. A better one runs to the south, about four kilometers away. We parked here, then took this trail to the mine. There's a nice vein of malachite along this ridge. We came back this route."

"May I keep the map?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Thank you," Grissom said, placing it in his kit before walking over to join Warrick. "What evidence did you collect?"

"I got pics and bugs."

"Is that all?" Grissom asked incredulously. Even working alone, he should have been able to do more than that. "Evidence, even with an exposed body, is time-sensitive."

"Oh, like I'm so easy to confuse with Greg."

Grissom looked up, clearly confused. Why was Warrick angry now? He gave the younger man a pointed look as they made their way toward the body.

"I didn't collect any more, 'cause there is no more. There are no tracks, other than animal, around him. No cigarette butts, no gum wrappers, no trash. Nothing."

"The body?"

"No visible signs of trace. Haven't turned Hank over yet. I'll check him closer in the morgue."

Pursing his lips, Grissom ran his flashlight over the body, then up the sides of the rock walls. "Looks like the body was placed here. Not dumped. At least a 15-foot drop. Even a corpse would show signs if it had been pushed over."

"I've walked at least 300 yards in each direction. There's no sign of shoe prints, no tire marks, no drag marks. We're looking at 200 pounds on him. Not likely the killer carried Hank over this terrain."

Grissom frowned, slightly irritated at Warrick's insistence on referring to their victim by name. It didn't matter if they knew who he was; they had to stay detached, treat it like any other case. "Okay, the body got here somehow. Go topside. Check each side of the ravine, see if there's any clues on how the killer brought the body down."

"Right. And airlift will be here in a few minutes to get _Hank_."

As Warrick walked away, Grissom let out a long sigh. Tonight definitely was not going to be good.

* * *

Once they reached a relatively passable section of road, Catherine risked glancing at Sara. Neither woman had spoken since leaving the scene, and the silence was becoming oppressive.

"Hey, want me to drop you off at your place? Nicky was wrapping up his case. He can help me with this one."

"I won't get sick again," Sara replied firmly.

"If I thought you would, you wouldn't be riding up front with me! Go ahead. Take the night off."

Sara raised an eyebrow in wry amusement. While she and Catherine worked well together, they weren't exactly friends. But her support in all matters Hank made Sara wonder if this was part of some weird social ritual she never learned as a teenager. Despite the night's events, Sara's lips twitched at the mental image of her having to take a two-timed Judy on a drinking binge as part of a '_Cheated On, Now Drowning Our Miseries_' support group. The acronym was appropriate, even if she wasn't planning any future benders.

"I'm fine, Cath."

"Sure you are. Hate to see you when you weren't."

"Think you could tell the difference?" Sara asked with a hint of a challenge. No one had suspected a thing had been wrong. For a long time.

"Guess you have a point. Which isn't good. 'Cause you're the type that usually goes postal," Catherine replied in mock-seriousness.

Sara chuckled briefly, before turning to look out the side window. Eventually, she dropped her head in dejection. "Everyone is going to learn the truth about me and Hank. That's one part of my private life I really wanted to keep private."

"There's no reason for it become public. His cheating on you isn't pertinent to this case. Old news."

"I'm not going to impede an investigation."

"Did you kill Hank?"

"Of course not!"

"Why bring up irrelevant information? It's been over a year. If we investigated every person that a victim pissed off in that long of a time period, we'd never solve anything. Don't incriminate yourself."

"So tell me about our case," Sara finally responded.

* * *

Grissom frowned in consternation. He was having trouble concentrating. Their only evidence was the corpse and the insects feasting upon it. He was trying to examine both for anything Warrick may have overlooked, but his mind insisted on continually reminding him of one fact: This was the man Sara picked to be her lover.

Hearing the approaching helicopter, Grissom packed away his evidence jars, then ran his flashlight over the body one last time. _What was it that he'd been able to give Sara? Did he appreciate what she had offered him? What did Sara see when she looked into his eyes? _

Grissom drew back as a beetle picked that moment to crawl out of an eye socket. The juxtaposition of the imagery was apparent even to him. Standing up, he directed Warrick and the rescue workers.

"I'm going to photograph you while you move the body. Warrick, make sure the body is placed on the stretcher in the same position. We don't want to disturb the lividity."

"Man, he's ripe," the lead rescue worker griped. "I hate rotters. I, ugh, God, oh God …"

"Don't contaminate the scene!" Grissom yelped as the man dropped the stretcher and began retching.

"Billy, what's wrong? Oh, that's … no. Oh, no, that's Hank? Tell me that isn't Hank," his partner begged, backing away from the body.

"Sorry, man. I thought they told you who you'd be picking up," Warrick said softly.

Grissom snapped his head between the men in confusion. While they didn't normally deal with corpses, the rescue workers were used to grisly scenes. In many ways, their jobs were worse than a CSI's. Their victims were usually alive, bodies mangled or burnt, in agony, begging for relief or an end to their suffering.

And this bothered them. _Damn_.

He dropped his head as a feeling of guilt washed over him. Sara hated any bug-infested body. She was empathic, too. She'd probably be sick seeing anyone she knew._ And I reacted strongly when I found Debbie Marlin. I _knew_ that wasn't Sara, and it still got to me._

Maybe it didn't mean she still had feelings for their corpse. Grissom rubbed his hand over his beard. He hadn't meant to be cruel. Seeing Peddigrew had surprised him. He hadn't been expecting it. _Imagine how Sara felt. Damn._

"Come on, Billy. We gotta do this. We owe Hank that much. We can't leave him like this. Who did this to him?"

"We don't know yet," Grissom replied, the softness of his voice surprising Warrick.

"Find who did this. Promise me that you'll get the bastard that did this."

"We'll do our best. I'm sorry for your loss," Grissom said, realizing he owed Sara an apology.

* * *

Nick and Vartan stood outside the house, waiting for the locksmith to open the front door. As the deputies entered, guns drawn, a shrill sound pierced the night air, prompting neighbors to turn on their lights.

"Alarm's still working and active," Vartan commented. "Last person to leave must have set it."

"We know where Hank had been the past few days?" Nick asked, nodding as the deputies who cleared the house waved them in.

"Talked to his supervisor. He was on vacation. Gave us the name of his current girlfriend. I'm heading back to interview her later."

"Nice timing. No one would miss him. Did the killer know that or just luck out?"

"Find me some evidence, and I'll get you an answer."

"There wasn't anything at the scene?"

"Warrick and Grissom didn't find anything."

"Damn," Nick muttered, his curse referring both to the detective's comments and the scene before him. The house was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. There was no sign of a struggle, no disturbed furniture, no visible bloodstains.

"You know, I was teasing Sara once. Asked her if Hank was her 'Mr. Perfect'. She said no," Nick said, turning to face Vartan. "He was too sloppy."

"Think Mr. Sloppy hired a maid?"

"Or someone tried to clean up a crime scene."

* * *

"Good evening, Gil," Robbins said. "How's Sara?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since she left the scene."

"It's a shame. No one should ever have to see someone they know in this condition."

"True," Grissom exhaled. "What can you tell me?"

"Cause of death is pretty straightforward. Three gunshots to the chest. Any of them would have killed him. One through the heart would have been fatal immediately. The other two each took out a lung, doing a lot of damage to the arteries. He would have bled out quickly from either of those. Pulled one bullet from the body. Sent it to Bobby. We're still waiting on the tox screen, but in every other way, he was in excellent health."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, the body's clean."

"Clean?"

"Washed. We found a trace of soap in the scalp and the skin folds of the elbow. Sent samples to Trace. Any other evidence was washed off."

"Someone went to a lot of trouble covering their tracks."

"So it would seem. And it's a good thing his body was found while it was still visually identifiable," Robbins said, hobbling to X-rays hanging from a light box.

"Why's that?"

"Unless you had a DNA sample, I don't know how else you could have identified him. He's tall, but not unusually so. There's a hairline fracture to the wrist. Only broken bone. I'm not an odontologist, but I don't think his dental records would help. He has no cavities. You might have been able to exclude the body, but I don't think there's enough unique attributes to establish identity."

"Let me know when the tox screens come in."

"Don't I always?"

"Doc, do me a favor," Grissom said, pausing at the doors to look back at the autopsied body and organs spread across the morgue. "If Sara comes down, try to talk her out of seeing him like this."

"Of course, Gil," Robbins replied kindly.

* * *

"Oh, God," Elaine Alcott gasped, paling noticeably as she looked at the morgue photograph. "That's Hank. How, how did this … what … happened?"

"I'm sorry for your loss," Vartan said. "We've just started our investigation. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, no. No, thank you."

"Ms. Alcott, when was the last time you saw Hank?"

"It was Friday, after he got off his shift. We had a late dinner. He was leaving early the next morning."

"Where was he going?"

"A whitewater-rafting trip."

"You didn't go? Were you having difficulties?"

"Oh, no," she said, wiping her eyes. "Nothing like that. My idea of fun in the water is a tropical beach. But Hank loves doing those things. He hadn't gone rafting for a while. I told him to go ahead. I've been really busy with work. I couldn't get off, so we couldn't take a joint vacation. I wanted him to have fun."

"Had he mentioned any troubles? At work? Any fights lately?'

"God, no! Hank's a great guy. Everyone at the station gets along with him. He's everybody's best friend. I don't understand this. Why would anyone want to hurt him? Why?"

* * *

Sara set the bomb pieces on the table, swearing softly to herself. She hated bombers. Smart ones always planted a second or third one, rigged to go off later, maximizing the odds of killing or injuring the police and rescue workers who responded to the first.

She used to worry Hank would get killed. _Happened anyway._

Sighing, Sara closed her eyes as she rolled her head back, working out the tension in her neck. As angry as Hank made her, she never wanted to see him like that. That wasn't the way she wanted to remember him.

He'd been nice that night at the bar fight, friendly and attentive. But as soon as he tried to apologize, she had cut him off curtly. She had been busy, but the real truth was she hadn't been interested in what he had to say.

_Why was I so cold to him? It wouldn't have hurt me to have been polite at least. Did he die thinking I was a bitch? It doesn't matter. We were never going to get back together. If we had broken up for any other reason, maybe, but there's no way I'll ever trust him again. _

_I would trust him again. Damn. _

"Hey."

Turning, she saw Catherine leaning against the doorframe. "Shift's over. Want to go grab a beer … ritto? A breakfast burrito? Nick says Los Tolteca makes great ones."

"Thanks, Cath," Sara replied with a half-grin. "I'm nearly done with this. Might as well finish it before I head out."

"Okay," the blonde replied, rolling her eyes at her verbal slip-up. Seeing Grissom walking down the hallway, looking in various labs, she fixed him with a sharp glare. "Lose something? A heart maybe?"

"Have you seen Sara? I want to apologize," he said, looking at Catherine over the top of his glasses.

"Layout Room. Can't guarantee she's interested in hearing it."

"I know," he said. Entering the room, Grissom drew to a sudden halt when he saw Sara holding a cluster of dynamite sticks.

"It's a dud," Sara informed him dryly.

"Oh. Good. Sara, look …"

"Bomb squad realized it right away. Whoever wired this didn't know the first thing about a circuit. Timer isn't even a timer. It's a digital thermometer for cooking. The dynamite is missing a key ingredient – the nitroglycerin. It's just sawdust. The caps are real, though."

"Sara, …"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get sick. It won't happen again."

"I know. It's not a problem. You had a terrible shock," Grissom said, fighting a wince when Sara turned to stare at him disbelievingly. "Why don't you go home? Shift's over."

"I want to finish this up."

The finality in her tone was impossible to miss, so Grissom headed back, hesitating at the doorway. _I have to make an effort._

"Sara, don't do this. Don't bury yourself in work."

"And why not?" she replied sarcastically.

"You'll end up like me," Grissom said sadly, giving her a half-shrug before leaving the room.

He was halfway back to his office when his name was yelled out. Spinning around, he stared openmouthed as Bobby came running up the hallway.

"Grissom. We have a problem. Major problem."

"Calm down," he said, pulling him into his office and closing the door. "What's wrong?"

"I checked the bullet pulled from your victim. Hank."

"And the problem is?"

"I found a match in the database."

"Bobby, I think you lost me somewhere. Why is that a bad thing?"

"The gun was used in the Hollandale murders," Bobby said, getting up when Grissom gave him a puzzled look. "The case was solved years ago, Grissom! We have that gun – it's in our evidence vault!"

_TBC_


	4. Ch 4

**Scorned  
Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Ann for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

The evidence clerk tracked down the information on the Hollandale murders in silent confusion. It was rare for investigators to want evidence from long-solved cases. It was even rarer for them to sign the necessary forms while gloved and then to seal the paperwork in an evidence bag.

"Don't open that," Grissom warned as he went to retrieve the boxes himself. In all probability, his precautions were unnecessary. The logical explanation was that a database error had been made.

Every gun left unique markings on the bullet as it passed through the barrel. These patterns of lands and grooves could establish if two bullets had been fired by the same weapon or to verify that a specific gun had fired the bullets.

Records of these patterns from every bullet and gun recovered by the police were recorded in a database. While they tried to be thorough, the sheer volume of firearms used in the commission of crimes in Clark County was staggering. The size of the database was massive, and a data entry mistake had been inevitable.

Still, Grissom wasn't taking any chances. In theory, all evidence was stored in such a manner that tampering was highly improbable. Like all security plans, though, it had one major weakness: it relied on the honesty of the people using it. If this gun had been used to kill Peddigrew, it meant someone in the lab or the police force took it.

Heading back into the Layout Room, he was greeted by a nervous Bobby. Setting his load down, Grissom opened the first box, pulling out the contents one piece at a time. He examined each briefly, looking for any signs of tampering.

When he pulled out the gun, still sealed in its evidence bag, Grissom raised an amused eyebrow at the sheepish looking tech.

They still needed to correct the database entry. For the sake of completeness, they would fire a new round from the gun, allowing no question that the correct information was stored. Reaching into his kit, he pulled out a blade to slit the evidence bag.

His smile disappeared immediately.

"Grissom," Bobby hissed as the distinctive odor reached them.

"Here. Do a visual comparison. Now!" Grissom barked as he shoved the bagged bullets he'd taken from the box earlier into Bobby's hands. Pulling out his phone, he rapidly began leaving pages.

They had a serious problem.

* * *

"Your timing sucks, Gil," Catherine said coolly as she entered the Layout Room. "I'm pulling into my own driveway, thinking of a nice breakfast with Linds, when I got your page. This better be good."

She gave the object of her irritation a puzzled look as he closed the door to the lab before taking her arm to lead her across the room, oblivious to her anger.

"Why were you asking if Sara got near the evidence at the scene?" he asked urgently.

"I told you. Defense attorneys."

"I know what you said, Catherine. Now I need to know the truth. Why do you think Sara's impartiality is questionable?"

"I never said that! Look, if you called me back in because you're still in I'm-an-asshole-around-Sara mode, leave me out of it."

Grissom let go of her arm to run his hand through his hair, taking a step away. Turning back to her, he took a deep breath. "Bobby found a match to the bullet Doc found in Peddigrew."

"Okay. And?" she asked, her temper fading slightly as she recognized her friend's discomfort.

"This is probably the gun used to kill Peddigrew," Grissom said shortly, pointing to the bagged pistol. "It's been in our evidence vault for 14 years."

"That doesn't make any sense," Catherine said, donning her own gloves and picking up the bag. Her head snapped up at the familiar petroleum smell. "Solvent? The gun's been cleaned?"

"So it would seem."

"Gil," she began, shaking her head in confusion. The lab never cleaned guns before storing them as evidence. They were bagged exactly as they were after any tests. But this gun had been cleaned, and recently enough that the solvent was still noticeable.

The implication was clear. Someone connected to the lab was involved in the murder.

"You said 'probably'," she pointed out hopefully.

"Bobby's doing a visual comparison of the bullets from this case to ours. Catherine, why were you asking about Sara?" Grissom repeated.

"Come on, Gil! You can't believe Sara had anything to do with this," she said hotly.

Grissom sighed in frustration. He understood that Catherine was trying to be protective, but her evasiveness wasn't helping Sara any. In fact, it was dangerous. The only evidence they had pointed at someone in the lab. If there was any reason to suspect Sara, they needed to act fast to exonerate her.

_Will Sara believe that I'm trying to help her? Catherine doesn't get it. Damn. I blew it tonight. Why was I jealous? She broke up with him over a year ago. Sara's never going to give me a chance if I keep this up. _

"Of course I don't think Sara's involved. You're right: I was an asshole earlier. Can we please move on?"

Both looked up as Bobby knocked before entering. His expression relayed the results before he spoke. "It's a match. I checked the bullet from your case against every one of the bullets from the old case. Want me to do a test fire?"

"Not yet. The others should be in my office by now. Bring them down in here in about five minutes."

"Right."

Once Bobby left, Grissom closed the door again, leaning against it. Rubbing his hand over his beard, he let out a ragged breath.

"Catherine, at the very least, we have a case of evidence tampering. This whole case is going to become a political hot potato. If there's anything that could call Sara's involvement into question, we have to know. Any sign of a cover-up would ruin her professional reputation."

"Not to mention the lab's," Catherine said softly, pleasantly surprised that Grissom had considered the impact on Sara ahead of work. "Gil, I think it's time you talked to Sara about this. Professionally."

"That doesn't inspire confidence," he said wearily.

"Sorry. What about the evidence? There can't be anything that points to Sara."

"You're right about that," Grissom replied dryly. "There is no evidence. Whoever did this covered their tracks. Like they knew what we'd be looking for."

"Talk about not inspiring confidence," she grumbled, flashing him a brief, knowing smile. There was no way Catherine would believe Sara had killed Peddigrew, but she had to admit that circumstantially, things looked bad.

Things looked even worse for Grissom. He may have been trying to rebuild his bridges with Sara, but his jealous outburst earlier had been enough of a stumble. Having to consider her a potential suspect in a murder would try even a stable friendship.

"You okay? Yeah. Never mind. Dumb question."

"Your bomb case – can it be worked alone?"

"I guess so, but Gil, you're not going to put Sara on leave. Not for this."

"No, but this case has now become our new priority. Warrick went back to the scene, seeing if he can find anything in daylight. Nick's still processing Peddigrew's house. Auto detail is bringing in his truck. I want you to process it. Take the damn thing apart if you have to. There has to be a clue somewhere."

"No problem. Gil," she said, pausing at the doorway to give him a pointed look. "Sara could probably use someone to talk to, personally, later."

Grissom nodded as she made her way to the locker room to change.

_But will I be the one she wants to talk to? I never should have let things get so bad with Sara. We used to be close. She'd sit in my office, willing to let me see her cry when a case got to her. Now, she acts like she doesn't want to be in the same room with me. _

_I really thought I was protecting her. Us. Who am I fooling? I was afraid. I didn't want to get hurt. I kept her away so I wouldn't get hurt. In the process, what did I do to her? _

_What am I going to do to her now? We have to question her. Something happened between her and this Peddigrew. Something that has Catherine edgy. That can't be good. _

_Sara's a professional. She'll understand we have to do this. _

_Will she understand that I'm trying to help? _

Grissom pulled out his cell phone again. He couldn't avoid this any longer. Cavallo and Atwater needed to know what was going on.

* * *

The assembled techs milled into the Layout Room, alternately grilling Bobby and speculating openly. They usually weren't called into meetings, and those few were scheduled in advance. This was an unexpected occurrence, and they were curious.

Closing the door, Grissom ignored the stares directed his way as he moved behind the table. "This evidence has been tampered with," he said, effectively shocking them into silence.

"How can you tell?" Greg asked.

Grissom stared at him for a moment as he debated how to answer. Discretion was important, but his question hadn't been random. He was training to be a CSI. This was the type of thing he needed to know. Picking up the bag, he held it under the tech's nose, causing him to pull back.

"That's a cleaning agent. We never clean evidentiary weapons. This is from an old case; no one had a reason to even be near this."

Greg darted his eyes nervously before looking at his supervisor. "You were working Hank's murder. Isn't that the same caliber gun that killed him?"

That bombshell shattered the quiet of the room as the other techs rapidly began asking questions. Grissom gave Greg a measured look; it was a nice job of connecting points, but he needed to learn when not to vocalize.

"Hey! Knock it off, everyone. We're working this case," he stated firmly, spreading his hands over the evidence spread on the table. The techs settled down, but all of them noticed Grissom hadn't contradicted Greg.

"Obviously, someone from the lab is involved. Right now, every one of us is a potential suspect. For that reason, no one collects evidence on their own. Ronnie, I bagged the logs. I want it examined for any signs that it was tampered with.

"I want the boxes, evidence bag and gun swabbed for any trace or DNA."

"It's been cleaned," Hodges pointed out.

"Then we'll have to be thorough, won't we? Look for areas that are easy to overlook. Jacqui, we'll print everything, too. Look, I don't have to tell you to be quiet about this. Let's get to work."

* * *

Sara was only mildly surprised when she walked into the interrogation room. It was common to question people who knew victims, but she hadn't been in the best shape when Vartan tried to interview her earlier. Seeing the detective, she gave him a brief wave, which he didn't return.

She wasn't too happy Grissom was there, but it was his case now. Talking about Hank would be painful enough. Having him around wouldn't help matters. His encouraging look only confused her.

Lately, that's all Grissom seemed to do. He'd been openly – not to mention publicly –emotionally supportive when she'd been pulled over. He hadn't pushed, but had let her know she could talk to him about anything. He'd even called her while she was on vacation to check up on her.

The phone call had been nondescript, except for the fact that it was from Grissom. The sound of his voice had been soft and gentle, an aural caress almost. There was a time when that kind of response from him would have fired Sara's dreams that they could make things work between them.

Reality had killed that fantasy.

Even if she hadn't overheard Grissom's statement to Dr. Lurie, his actions had made it clear: he didn't want a relationship, at least not a romantic one. Sara couldn't shake the feeling his concern had been driven by a feeling of guilt. As much as she wished that he cared, she wasn't going to set herself up for that type of heartbreak again.

Grissom had asked how she was feeling, if she needed any more time off, if she was enjoying her vacation. She'd answered politely, if not completely. Grissom hadn't pushed and ended the conversation after a short time. She hadn't been avoiding him; the truth was, she wasn't sure how she was doing.

When she first arrived, she tried to act as if things were fine. But her parents, the same people who never worried about anything, quietly mentioned Uncle Marty could fit her in. Marty wasn't really an uncle, but he was a psychologist. It was bad enough they could see through her pretenses, but the fact that Marty specialized in treating depression in the terminally ill really hadn't helped her mood.

Later, she'd met up with friends from the San Francisco Crime Lab. Over a raucous lunch, they'd all teased her for "not forgetting the little people" now that she'd made it to the big time. All through the meal, she secretly hoped they would mention there was an opening at the lab. Afterwards, she was relieved when the job offer never came.

When she got back to Vegas, Grissom had been friendly. Nothing was mentioned of her drinking incident, even in the lab. Finally, she'd gotten Greg to confide that Grissom had dubbed the subject verboten.

The little touches had started Sara wondering if Grissom was actually making an overture.

Then, he'd been a total jerk at the crime scene when he learned who the victim was. A few hours later, he was back to supportive. To say he was confusing would be like calling a glacier an ice cube.

What really surprised her was Brass. It wasn't normal to have two detectives on one case. She nearly laughed when realization hit her; Brass typically acted as a representative when someone in the department was questioned.

"You here to spring me?" she asked in a mock-whisper. He smiled wanly as he took a seat next to her, prompting her to give him a questioning look.

"Here you go," Grissom said, sliding her a cup of coffee as he took a seat opposite her at the table.

"Thanks," Sara said sipping it slowly. This wasn't the normal swill they had laying around. He'd stopped somewhere to get the good stuff. It even had cream and extra sugar, the way she liked it.

Looking up at him, she noticed the concern in his expression. Vartan was concentrating on the notepad sitting in front of him on the table, avoiding looking her in the eye. Brass attempted a reassuring smile, but she could tell he was resigned.

Sara began to wonder if this was the equivalent of her last meal and cigarette.

Any amusement she may have felt died the moment she heard the tape recorder starting. Vartan cleared his throat before stating the time, date, those present and the case they were working.

This wasn't a routine questioning.

The room took on a surreal atmosphere when Vartan began to read her Miranda rights, still avoiding her eyes. Brass leaned towards her to whisper something about a lawyer. She quietly shook her head, turning to glare at Grissom accusingly.

Why was he doing this?

_TBC_


	5. Ch 5

**Scorned**

**Summary: **Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Ann for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.   
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

**

* * *

Chapter 5 **

Time seemed to slow in the interrogation room. Part of her mind registered Vartan's voice as he read her rights, but Sara's concentration was fixed on Grissom. Oblivious to the others, she continued to stare at him, making no attempt to hide the anger and disbelief she was feeling.

Her pain was another story; she kept it buried, not wanting to acknowledge that Grissom still had that power over her. She'd almost lost herself to the pain once. That first sojourn had cost Sara her self-respect. She considered it a small price to pay to have avoided killing someone in her bout of self-destruction.

She couldn't risk it again.

To her surprise, Grissom didn't look away. His eyes were nearly midnight blue with emotion, a fact that was adding to Sara's confusion. He wasn't angry. He wasn't cold. There seemed to be an imploring quality to his gaze, as if he needed something from her.

Brown eyes locked with blue. Sara didn't relent her silent onslaught, even when the pain became evident in Grissom's visage.

"Do you understand?"

Realizing Vartan's question needed an answer, Sara finally broke eye contact. It took an effort not to laugh. She could literally recite the Miranda warning forward and backward. Of course she knew what her rights were. What she didn't understand is why they were being read to her.

Sara set the forgotten coffee cup on the table, symbolically pushing it back to Grissom before crossing her arms over her chest. Whether it was an act of defiance or protection, even she was uncertain. Shifting position, a familiar weight on her hip registered in her brain.

_I have my gun. _

The thought was comforting. If they were going to charge her with anything, it would have been taken from her immediately. Then what was going on? She turned to Vartan, who seemed equally confused by the turn of events.

_Then why did he read me my rights? He doesn't look like he knows. Someone higher up the chain must be in ass-covering mode. Why? What makes this case so special? _

_And whose ass? _

If anything, they had just made their investigation more difficult. It was a quirk in the law, but if she had refused to answer a question, it could have been held against her as probable cause. Not to mention her job would be on the line for impeding an investigation. They'd just given her a legal way out of both situations.

"I understand," Sara said slowly, turning to Brass. When he gave her a wink, she nearly smiled.

"Glad one of us does," Vartan muttered softly before clearing his throat and starting the interrogation. "Have you been in the evidence vault in the past two weeks?"

"Huh? Yeah. Yes, of course," Sara sputtered, surprised by the line of questioning. "It's a normal part of the job."

"At any time did you handle evidence from the Hollandale case?"

"I don't think so. The name isn't familiar. Is that one of my cases?" Sara asked. For every high-profile case a CSI covered, there'd be dozens of minor crimes. It would be impossible to remember all of them.

"No," Brass said softly.

"While in the vault, did you at any time handle any evidence boxes other than ones pertaining to your cases?"

"I … maybe. I don't remember doing it, but I might have moved a box that was in my way."

"You don't recall doing so?"

"No," Sara said, turning back to Brass. Initially, she thought Vartan may have been trying a diversionary tactic – ask about something unrelated in the hopes of surprising her when the questions about Hank started. Seeing Brass' grim expression, she realized the murder and this Hollandale case had to be related.

_What kind of connection? Killed by the same weapon would be the obvious, but why ask me if I'd been handling evidence? _

_Unless we had the gun. _

_Oh, God. _

_If someone took a gun from the evidence … Damn. Explains why they're treating this so seriously. It had to be an inside job; no one else could get a gun out of the vault. _

_I wonder if Hank was screwing around with anyone else in the lab. If not, their list of suspects is going to be really short. Really, really short. _

_Too damn short. _

Sara glanced back at Grissom quizzically. His head moved in the slightest of nods, wordlessly answering her unspoken question. She raised an eyebrow slightly before turning back to the detective.

"About Peddigrew: how did you meet?"

Sara dropped her eyes to the table. By nature, she was a private person. The thought of talking about her ruinous relationship with Hank was disconcerting enough; add Grissom into the equation, and the temptation to remain silent was strong.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head back up. Avoiding this wasn't going to make it go away. "At a crime scene. Rescue found a decomp in a canvas bag. He stayed there until CSI arrived."

"How did you get along?"

"Fine. Great, actually. We were joking around at the scene. Later, he showed up at the lab, wanted to know if I wanted to have dinner sometime."

"That's when you started dating?"

"No," she said, feeling Grissom's stare burning into her. "With our schedules and stuff, we never got around to it. We'd see each other at work and talk. Then, a month or two later, I had a case."

"Yes?" Vartan prompted when she paused.

"It really got to me. I, well, I'm not a real social go-getter. I work. I go home. That's about it. This case was a woman who was a shut-in, who never went out. I guess I related more to her than felt comfortable."

"You don't have to talk about this," Brass said softly when she paused again.

"Yeah, I do. I knew I didn't want to be alone like that. So, I called Hank, asked him if he wanted to have dinner. We met next time we both had off the same shift. But we weren't dating."

"You did date him?" Vartan asked.

"Yeah. Later. It's … complicated. I told Hank I wasn't looking for anything … romantic. He was okay with being friends. We caught movies sometimes, or dinner. Just friends."

"Really?"

"I'd been in Vegas about 18 months at that time," Sara explained, leaning forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Grissom shifting to track her motions. He didn't believe her before; was he going to distrust her now? Before, his disbelief had only hurt her personally. Now, it could cast doubt on her innocence.

"Like I said, I'm not good with social stuff. All my friends were connected to work. They're CSIs, techs, cops. Hank wasn't from work, but he knew enough about the job to understand. And his friends liked to go to bars and stuff on their nights off. He went with them, but he said there were times he'd prefer something quieter. It worked for both of us."

"When did you become involved?"

"After a few months. I had a case – another case – that really bothered me. A dead cheerleader, partially eaten by her classmates. You had to have been here to believe the cases we had that year," Sara said, giving the shocked detective a humorless smile.

"I think I'm glad I wasn't."

Sara locked her fingers together on the table, making sure she didn't look at Grissom. She wondered if he'd get the significance of the rest of her story.

"Yeah. Well, I worked that case solo. And when it was done, I felt … I don't know. Alone. Sad. So many lives ruined for a stupid reason. So, I called Hank. I knew he was going to a party that night, but I wanted someone to talk to, even if only a minute.

"I guess he could tell I was upset, because he showed up at my apartment later with beer and a pizza. Said there'd be other parties. I, I couldn't believe he'd done that. It … I wasn't used to someone putting me ahead of their own life.

"I, uh, I ended up in his arms, crying. And he held me. Comforted me. And I started asking myself what was wrong with me. Here's a great guy, and he cares for me. I," she said, taking a steadying breath. "I realized it wasn't like there was any other guy interested in me. So, I asked him if he wanted to be more than friends. He did."

"But things didn't work out?"

"No," Sara said softly, focusing on a freckle on her finger. She didn't want to see their reactions when she told them the truth. That had been the most embarrassing moment of her life – up until she had to face Grissom in the police station. _Why does he always see me when I'm at my worst? _

"A few months later, Hank was in a restaurant that an elderly woman drove her Jaguar into. He was hurt. But he really seemed to be nervous around me. Turns out the 'friend' he was with at the time was his girlfriend."

"He was cheating on you?"

"No. Technically, he was using me to cheat on her," she said, fighting to keep her voice level. "I figured it out during the course of the investigation. I, I had to go to her house. There was a picture of her and Hank in Hawaii the year before. They'd been together before I met Hank."

At the sound of a quick intact of breath, she blinked several times rapidly, waiting for Grissom to verbally react. When the room remained silent, she risked a look at Brass, who was patting her arm. Being on the receiving end of pity was as bad as Sara imagined it would be.

"Hank came down to the station later. I told him I hadn't told his girlfriend the truth. That was the end of our relationship."

"I imagine you were angry."

"Yeah," Sara said with a dismissive chuckle. "Mainly at myself, for never suspecting. I was embarrassed, hurt. Really hurt."

"You didn't have any contact with him after that?"

"Not unless it was work-related. I had to work with him a couple of times at scenes. Last time was a couple months ago."

"One last question, Sara. Do you know the name of this other woman?"

"Elaine Alcott. She worked for Sillmont Healthcare, lived in Henderson. Don't know if she still does."

"Thanks," Vartan said after a moment's pause. Turning off the tape recorder, he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I know this must be hard on you."

Sara nodded as he gathered his notes. She turned to Brass, tilting her head slightly. "Hank was killed by a gun from that Hollandale case." It wasn't a question, and he didn't answer. She knew he wouldn't be able to talk about an open case, but his silence spoke volumes.

When she turned to look at Grissom, he was staring out the door. _He can't even look at me. Dammit. No. I'm not going to cry. I'm not letting him get to me anymore._ "Uh, excuse me. Be back in a minute," she said, heading to the restroom.

"Damn," Brass groused when she left. "Son-of-a-bitch."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, wondering if the comment had been directed at him. His response was interrupted by the arrival of Cavallo and Atwater, who'd been watching from the observation room.

"You're certain Peddigrew was killed by a gun from the lab?" the lab director asked immediately.

Grissom nodded, taking his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I don't get it. Why would someone return the gun? It was risky enough removing it," Atwater asked.

"Jeffery Hollandale spent 14 years on death row for killing his wife and in-laws," Grissom huffed out. "He died of a heart attack two weeks ago."

Atwater shook his head, muttering softly under his breath. Evidence in a capital punishment case would be stored as long as there was a chance of an appeal. Once all court action was finished, the evidence would be disposed of, with personal effects being returned to the family.

Guns were destroyed and the scrap sold.

"When's the next gun crushing?" Cavallo asked quietly.

"Next week."

"Nice trick," Brass said. "If his body hadn't of been found before then, the gun would have been destroyed. Try prosecuting a case where the killer used a weapon that doesn't exist. Even a rookie lawyer could tear that apart in court. Talk about reasonable doubt."

Atwater cleared his throat before looking at Vartan. The detective had a good reputation, but the entire integrity of the lab could hinge on this case. They needed to find out who and how evidence had been tampered with. A more experienced detective would be preferable, but he knew officers were territorial.

"This case is going to be complex," he began diplomatically. "In addition to the murder, there needs to be an investigation on how the gun was removed from the lab. I don't have to tell you it involved someone within the department," the sheriff said as he turned to Brass.

"I'll be glad to help," he offered, knowing what Atwater was aiming to do.

"Good. Yes, you help. I'm sure that's acceptable to all."

"Sure," Vartan replied, giving the captain a smirk. "You take the heat for investigating one of our own. I'll take the credit for solving the case."

"Oh, I can see that happening."

"And I think it would be best if another shift covered this case," Cavallo added.

"No. This is our case. We've already started it," Grissom stated. "Look, Rescue runs a rotating shift. Peddigrew would have worked with every shift in the lab. We have no idea how many people he's had personal involvements with. And there's no way Sara did this."

"You sound certain."

"I am. Sara's the best CSI we have. If she killed someone, we'd never have found the body. She wouldn't have used a weapon that could have been traced back to her in any way. Trust me, if Sara killed someone, we'd never know it."

"Fine, Gil, this case is yours. For now. But do me a favor," Cavallo sighed. "Don't make any comments like that to the press."

Brass chuckled, getting up when Sara passed the sheriff and Cavallo as they left the room. He didn't comment that her eyes were puffy. "You okay, sport?"

"Sure. Am I on suspension?" she asked, turning to face Grissom.

"What? No, of course not, Sara," he said softly, hurt by the accusing look she gave him. "There's no evidence to link you to his murder."

"Fine. I need to get back to my case then."

"Sara, wait," Grissom said, following her out of the room. He caught up to her, resting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. When she turned around, he didn't remove it. He licked his lips before placing his other hand on the opposite shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sara. For everything."

"So am I," she said after a moment, turning to head back to the exit.

_TBC_


	6. Ch 6

**Scorned  
Summary:** Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in getting his chapter out, but I was under the weather.Thanks to Ann and Marlou for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Nick found Sara in the Layout Room examining pieces of the faux bomb discovered earlier at the art gallery. Hearing his approach, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a lopsided grin in greeting.

"You okay?" he asked kindly, pulling her off the stool and into a bear hug, unaware of the embarrassed eye roll directed over his shoulder.

"Fine, Nick. Just some broken ribs," she answered with a forced lightness. Stepping out of the hug, she turned back to the table. Her friend's concern was touching, but another humiliating incident in her life had just become public knowledge for the entire lab. As he moved beside her, Sara wished she could go a few hours without a reminder.

"Hey, now, I'm bein' serious."

"So am I," Sara answered, sighing when he gave her a questioning look. "I am. Really. It caught me off guard. That's all. I never expected to see Hank – anyone I knew – like … that."

"No one ever does," he agreed softly, giving her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I gotta ask: you said Hank wasn't really neat?"

"He wasn't a total slob," she answered quickly, mentally kicking herself for coming to Hank's defense. The custom of not speaking ill of the dead was common. Whether it came from courtesy to those who could no longer defend themselves, or if it was borne of some darker superstition, it didn't help investigators. "But he wasn't a clean freak, either."

"Like you."

Sara gave him a half-smirk as she returned to work on her evidence. "He'd leave stuff lying around. Wasn't like the dishes could walk away on their own."

Nick nodded, scowling as he shifted his weight. "His house was clean. Really clean."

"You shouldn't be telling me this," Sara pointed out, silently pondering the information. Maybe Hank had learned to pick up after himself.

"I can't believe they hauled you in for questioning," he said hotly.

"You think there's enough people here to haul me in?" Sara asked, a true grin forming at Nick's outrage. "I walked in. My own two feet."

"Still not right … Do you know anyone who would have a grudge against Hank?"

"And could get to the murder weapon? Short list, Nicky," she said, giving him a friendly shove with her shoulder when he looked sheepish.

"I guess so, but I don't have to be happy about it. I know what it's like. Everyone wondering if you did it."

"So why are you busting my chops? Go clear me!"

"I'm trying! I'm not the one wasting time treating you like a suspect."

"Come on. I had access to the gun and motive. Of course I'm going to be questioned."

"What motive would you have?" a baffled Nick asked.

"You're not going to make a good knight in shining armor if you don't stay in the loop," Sara said quietly, focusing excessive attention on two pieces of metal stubbornly stuck together. News hadn't traveled as fast as she thought it would.

"Like you need a knight. You'd take a can opener to me. What's going on?"

Deciding it was time to intervene, Grissom entered the room. He'd seen Nick head this way and had followed him, hoping to get an update. Realizing Sara was still in the room, he paused, amazed again at how easily other people could openly offer support.

Of course, Nick and Sara's friendship wasn't strained. Grissom harbored no illusions about the reaction he'd get if he tried pulling Sara into a hug like that in the lab. He'd be lucky if she limited herself to a can opener.

"Sara? What's up?"

"Nick," he said, waving the younger man into the hall. He'd find out soon enough what was going on; there was no need for Sara to have to talk about it again. That was one small thing he could do for her. "What did you find?"

"Not much. That place was spotless. And I used luminol and the ALS. I even pulled back the carpeting. I got some hairs and fibers, but nothing that looked out of place."

"Okay," Grissom said, handing him the file. "Go hook up with Vartan. They're bringing in Elaine Alcott, Peddigrew's girlfriend, for more questions."

With a brief glance back at the Layout Room, Grissom flexed his hands and headed for his office. Eventually, he would need to talk to Sara, but it didn't take a forensic scientist to realize that her bravado with Nick had been forced. This whole ordeal had to be humiliating. In her place, Grissom knew he'd appreciate some space.

_Especially from me. I can't believe how badly I misread the situation with Sara and Peddigrew. The cheerleader case – that was right after Gerard told me about them. Why did I listen to him? Sara told me there was nothing going on. _

Inside his office, he found a rumpled Catherine sitting in one of his chairs, eyes closed and her head hanging back.

"I hate metal."

"Someone with your magnetic personality?"

"God, Gil, save the comedy for someone good at it," she groaned, opening one eye to give him a dirty look. "I tore the truck apart. I found some grit embedded in the tires. Sent it to Trace. The cab? Clean. Not even hair fibers on the seats."

"That's very clean," Grissom noted. _Like every other piece of evidence. Especially for someone who wasn't a 'clean freak'._ Lividity showed the body had been moved after death. A pick-up truck would be handy for the job.

"I don't like it. People shed hairs all the time. Last person to use the truck cleaned it afterwards. Hank wasn't prissy. I don't see him vacuuming his truck after every use. My bet – the killer used it to move him."

"And the truck bed is metal," he surmised.

"Yeah. Bloodstains can't sink in. But it can be washed out," she said, sitting up and leaning forward. "I took the back gate off. There are traces of blood in the hinges."

"Like someone rinsed blood out of the bed, but didn't realize it would settle in the gaps between the metal hinges."

"Exactly. Not that it helps much," she sighed. "I sent it to Greg. Even if it matches Peddigrew, doesn't prove anything. He could have cut himself taking something out of the truck."

"Anything else?" Grissom asked as he sank into his chair wearily.

"There's a ding on the back of the cab. Passenger side, above the window. Could be a ricochet from a bullet. Or from a rock. Bugs telling you anything?"

"Nothing definitive. Time of death is between two and five days. Until they finish maturing, I can't narrow it anymore than that."

"You talk to Sara?"

"We finished up about two hours ago."

"Did _you_ talk to her?"

"I think Sara had enough talking for one day," he answered vaguely.

"Gil," she huffed as she stood up. "Look, I know the two of you have this whole non-communicating communication thing going on. It's probably even cute, in some weird, geeky way. But it only works if you're both on the same page."

Grissom gave her a brief look as he went to retrieve the log he was using to measure the bugs' maturation. He froze briefly as she continued.

"At some point, you're going to have to say it to her, Gil. Those three little words. I. Like. You. Let her know you're still a friend."

"Catherine," he warned, going back to his chair.

"It's not hard. I'll even help," she continued, moving to sit on the corner of his desk. "Go home. Stand in front of the mirror. Practice saying it. Once you get it down, you can try it on me."

Grissom glared at her over the top of his glasses. "I'd. Like. You," he said, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately, "to leave. Now."

"Close," she sighed, shaking her head sadly. Sliding off the desk, she patted his shoulder sympathetically. "So close. Practice, Gil. I'm serious. If you can't be friends, there's nothing left for the two of you."

Once Catherine had left, Grissom set his pen down on his desk and rubbed his temples. He was still trying to come to terms with the revelations that came out of the interview. And the realization he'd treated Sara very unfairly.

With a resigned air, he got up and headed back down the hallway. Putting this off wouldn't make things any easier. At the very least, he had to make an effort to clear things between them. Standing in the doorway to the Layout Room, Grissom's eyebrow rose slowly. The empty room didn't bode well.

Ms. Alcott, thank you for coming in," Vartan said professionally, motioning the haggard looking woman towards an empty seat at the table. "This is Nick Stokes. He's with the Crime Lab. We have a few questions for you." 

"If you think it will help. Will this take long? Hank's parents are taking this so hard. I don't want to leave them alone any longer than I have to. They don't have any other family in the area."

"This will go quickly if you cooperate."

"Of course I will. But I don't know what I can tell you. No one had a reason to hurt him."

"You told us earlier that you weren't having any troubles with Hank."

"We are ... we didn't," she said, reaching into her bag for a tissue.

"But you didn't mention his infidelities."

"There weren't any infidelities."

Vartan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "We know that's not true."

"That ended a long time ago," Alcott said coldly. "Hank apologized for his … weakness. We worked through it."

"His _weakness_?" Nick asked incredulously, speaking for the first time since reading the report Grissom had given him. His anger at Sara's betrayal was vying with his sympathy for Alcott.

"Yes," she sobbed, biting her lip before looking away as she composed herself. "What Hank and I hav … had … was special. I wasn't going to throw it away over one mistake."

"Just one?"

"Yes, detective."

"In my experience, men who cheat once, cheat again."

"Hank wasn't you," she hissed. "I told you. We worked it out. We love each other. Deeply. It wasn't his fault. He was as much a victim as I was."

"What?"

"I know what your co-worker did, Mr. Stokes. She came onto Hank. She seduced him. He faltered. I was hurt. I admit that. But we worked it out."

Behind the one-way mirror, Sara crossed her arms tighter around herself as the insults continued. Logically, she could understand Alcott's anger; she was the one who had been cheated on. But the barbs hurt, even if they weren't true.

_Great. The whole lab thinks I'm a drunk. They'll know about Hank. And now they'll think I'm a slut. An evidence-tampering, body-dumping, murdering slut. Damn. Nothing like going out in style. _

"Ms. Alcott, please, " Vartan intervened. "I can understand that this is unpleasant for you to discuss, but if we are to catch the person who killed Hank, we have to know the truth. The longer it takes to get to that truth, the more chance there is for the killer to escape. Hank cheated on you once; if there's any chance he did so again, we need to know."

"It was a mistake. It happened once. He was sorry. What he had with that woman was a fling. It was meaningless."

Sara tensed; she could sense his presence even before he spoke. Glancing up, she could see Grissom approach in the reflection off of the glass. _Oh, great. Can this day get any worse? The one time I act unprofessionally on the job, I get busted._

"You shouldn't be here," Grissom said softly, standing behind her.

"I won't compromise your case."

"I know that. You shouldn't be listening to _that_," he said, wincing for Sara as Alcott added 'lying bitch' to the description.

"You'd be surprised what you can learn on this side of the glass," Sara said quietly, closing her eyes briefly when she felt the hand lightly resting on her back. "Might as well know what people will be whispering about in the lab."

"Sometimes, people need someone else to blame. They don't act rationally. People who know you – they won't believe this."

"In my experience, people believe what they want."

Grissom nodded slightly. The comment was said without malice, but he knew it was directed at him. His attention was drawn back to the interrogation room when Nick angrily dropped the folder on the table.

"Ms. Alcott, I am sorry, but what you're saying? It's not true."

"I think I would be in a better position to know that than you."

"I was there the night Sara and Hank met. He was into to her from the start. He came back to the lab that shift to ask her out. I'm sorry, Ms. Alcott, but Hank wasn't _lured_ into this. He started it."

"Right. Your types always stand up for each other. Are we done here, detective? Because I'm not going to listen to you attack Hank anymore. He's the victim here. Try to remember that," she said, pushing her chair back angrily.

Grissom let out a long breath in the observation room. That hadn't gone well. If Peddigrew had a history of cheating, there was no way Alcott would admit to it now. Assuming she even knew about it. He darted his eyes back to Sara as she shifted to face him.

"I didn't kill Hank."

"I know that," Grissom replied.

"Found a way to clear me?"

"I know you. And I believe you."

"Since when?"

There was a time when Grissom thought there was nothing worse than being on the receiving end of Sara's anger, but he was finding her detachment more alarming. Curiosity was the closest thing to emotion in her query. Had she finally decided he wasn't worth the effort?

"Sara, I make my share of mistakes, probably more when dealing with people. I know that. But I do try to learn from those mistakes."

"Good."

Grissom cocked his head as Sara walked out of the room, trying to decipher her comment. It hadn't sounded sarcastic, but she hadn't sounded forgiving, either. Maybe Catherine was right – maybe he needed to be more direct. He'd certainly given Sara enough reason to doubt his friendship. Maybe his actions were as confusing to Sara as her comments were to him.

Rubbing his temple, Grissom moved into the interrogation room, giving Nick a sharp look as he entered. The younger CSI shouldn't have lost his temper, but Grissom knew that if he'd been in the room listening as Alcott had trashed Sara, he would have been hard pressed to remain detached.

"She knows something," Vartan said. "I don't think Sara was an isolated case. 'Your types always stand up for each other.' Who's your type?"

"The other guys Hank worked with had to know he was dating Sara. And they had to know about Alcott."

"Next shift, head down to the station. Talk to the other EMTs," Grissom said. "Was Elaine the last one to see Hank alive?"

"Yeah. They had dinner Friday night. We have a credit card receipt and the waiter remembers them being there."

"And she's not cooperating. Get a warrant for her house and car."

Grissom moved through the house slowly and methodically. He didn't want to miss any potential evidence, but at the same time he wanted to disrupt Alcott's home as little as possible. As much as he was anxious to clear Sara, Grissom knew he had to remain objective. The angry outburst in the interrogation room didn't mean Elaine was guilty, and it would be hard to imagine how she could have gotten the murder weapon.

As he went down a hallway, Grissom paused and sniffed the air. A strong smell of bleach greeted him. Moving cautiously into the bathroom, he followed the odor until he reached the shower stall.

Blocks of tiles on the wall were brand new, the color lot not exactly matching the remaining ceramic. Part of the repaired area would be chest height on a tall man. Quickly snapping photos, Grissom smiled slightly as he began removing the tiles.

_TBC_


	7. Ch 7

**Scorned********  
Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.**  
****A/N:** Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.**  
****Rating:** R**  
****Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

******Chapter 7 **

Brass kept a wary eye on Nick as the two of them entered the station. The younger man's anger was palatable. While understandable, it was also counterproductive. If Nick went off half-cocked, it would put the other rescue workers on the defensive. They didn't see Hank as a two-timing womanizer, but as a friend and colleague who'd been brutally killed.

EMTs milled around the stationhouse listlessly, waiting for a call to give them something to concentrate on. The black bands on their badges and flower arrangements around the room served as reminder that Hank was one of their own, and he was missed.

"Keep your cool," Brass warned.

"I'm fine."

"I'm not joking. Go wait in the car if you can't control yourself."

"I said I'm fine," Nick huffed. "I can't believe what he did to Sara. She deserved better than that. You know how she is. That had to tear her up."

"I know. But now isn't the time. We need these guys' cooperation. Don't blow it."

"Right. Hey, Mike!" Nick said, nodding to a morose figure seated at a table. "That's Hank's partner, Mike Loggias. He's in the softball league."

Rounding up the shift supervisor as well, Brass and Nick moved them to a quiet corner of the room, where they offered their condolences.

"Do you have any leads?" the supervisor asked immediately.

"We're working on it. Do you know anyone who had a grudge against Hank?"

"No. Everyone liked him."

"Well, obviously someone didn't. Hank didn't kill himself, then dump his own body out in the desert," Brass stated. "Think about it: were there any troubles at a scene?"

"We get nasty drunks sometimes, but I don't recall Hank ever being threatened," the supervisor said, looking at Loggias, who nodded his confirmation.

"Any arguments with other EMTs?"

"No. Seriously, everyone liked Hank. He didn't cause troubles."

"What about jealous husbands or boyfriends?" Nick asked harshly. "Hank mess around with the wrong woman?"

"What?"

"We know Hank played the field."

"Nick," Brass said coolly as the bewildered supervisor started to get angry.

"You know about Sara?" Loggias asked sheepishly.

"What?" the supervisor repeated.

"Hank was seeing one of the CSIs. Sara. You know – the cute brunette."

"Yeah. I can't believe you, man. You worked with Sara the whole time Hank was cheating on her. Why didn't you say something?"

"Hank was my friend. It wasn't my place to get him in trouble."

"What about Sara?"

"Hey, I know how it looks, but it wasn't like that," Loggias insisted. "Hank wasn't trying to hurt her. He really cared about Sara."

"He was using her!"

"No! Nick, I'm serious. He and Elaine had been together forever. We all figured they'd be getting hitched soon. Then he met Sara, and Hank was … confused. He still loved Elaine, but Sara, Sara got to him. I really think he loved both of them."

"He had a funny way of showing it," Nick groused. "He had to know how Sara would take it."

"Yeah. Hank felt guilty about that, even before she found out."

"What about Elaine?" Brass asked. "Did he feel guilty about cheating on her?"

"I think so. That had to be the only reason he stayed with her after the truth came out," Loggias said angrily.

"Really? Do tell."

"We save lives. That's our job. But with Hank – that's who he was. Do you know what I mean? That's why he made EMT of the Year so often. He helped people; it was his nature. But Elaine, that insurance company, they killed people. They'd stall the paperwork until it was too late for their customers. Didn't even blink an eye about it."

"I can see where that would cause some troubles," Brass said thoughtfully.

"You don't know the half of it," Loggias sighed. "When the Insurance Commission investigated Sillmont Heathcare, Elaine was cool. Didn't give a thing away. The company was so impressed, they gave her a promotion, put her on the management track. Suddenly, a paramedic wasn't good enough for her. She wanted Hank to get a 'real job'. I really think Hank started regretting not picking Sara."

"Like she'd take him after what he did," Nick pointed out. "So what he had with Sara wasn't meaningless?"

"No, Nick, I swear. He really had it for her."

"But not enough to drop his other girlfriend. Yeah, yeah. He meant well. Did Elaine know how he felt?"

"I don't know, man. I think she knew something was up."

"Why do you say that?" the police captain asked.

"She used to come in and leave little presents for him in his locker. About seven, eight months ago, Elaine came in with a box, but she stormed out. That was the last time I saw her in here."

"Thanks. We'll need to see his locker," Brass told the supervisor.

"Sure. I figured you would. Let me grab a set of bolt cutters for the lock."

"Alcott swore in her interview that what Hank had with Sara was just a fling," Nick said quietly. "I'm not buying that."

"Yeah, but she was the one being cheated on. Sorry, it's the truth. She has a right to be defensive. Look, she stuck with the jerk. Couldn't be too smart."

"Right. Whoa! Hold on. Let me dust that before you cut it up," Nick called out as the supervisor started to cut the lock. Setting his kit down, he began to methodically dust the lock and door.

Once the door was open, Brass pulled a set of gloves from his pocket and began a visual examination of the cluttered locker. Extra clothes, boots, and tools were tossed into the cramped space. "Where would you find a spot to put a box in here?"

Nick leaned back, chewing his lip. "No room in the bottom, with the boots and stuff. Top shelf."

"Which already has a box on it. Now this is interesting."

"What?"

"Photos. Of Sara asleep."

"Pervert."

"I don't think so," Brass said, handing him a photo showing Sara, fully dressed, sprawled out asleep on a couch. "Photos of Sara awake. Photos of Hank and Sara together. Movie ticket stubs. Birthday and Christmas cards from Sara."

"You don't keep mementos like that unless the person meant something to you. If Elaine found that ..."

"I think we might be looking at motive."

* * *

Setting the tiles down, Grissom scowled as he peeled his gloves off. Every test he could think of gave the same result – there was nothing to indicate Peddigrew had been murdered in Alcott's bathroom.

While there yesterday, he had ripped down the tiles, the underlayment, even pulled the insulation from between the wall joists. No trace of blood, a bullet, or any indication of a crime. He came into work early this evening to care for the bugs he'd pulled from the body and measure their progress. Once that was done, he subjected the evidence from the bathroom to a battery of tests, but still nothing.

_Coincidence. Alcott replaced tiles while she thought Peddigrew was on vacation. They just happened to be the right height to line up with the bullets that killed him. That's too convenient. But how could she have covered up the evidence so I couldn't find it? _

Grissom's scowl deepened as he slid off of the stool. He had no reason to believe Alcott was the killer. How could she have gotten a weapon out of the lab? It was dangerous to assume she was the suspect.

Heading into the restroom, he let out a ragged breath. The trouble was that left Sara as the only other viable suspect they had. Grissom knew she didn't kill Peddigrew. It was one thing he didn't require proof about. And there was nothing to link Sara to the murder other than circumstantial evidence. She could have gotten the gun. She could have covered her tracks. She could have had a motive to kill him.

So far, the fact Peddigrew had been killed with a weapon that came from the lab had been kept from the press. Once that became public knowledge, all hell would break loose. Even if there were nothing that could implicate Sara, the accusation would hang over her head until they caught the real killer.

The problems were already starting. Cavallo had been concerned when he learned Sara was covering the Grimalkin art gallery bomb solo. He'd ordered Grissom to supervise the case closely. All he needed to do was find a way to do it without Sara thinking he questioned her abilities. Things were already strained between them.

Stepping to the sink, Grissom turned on the water and set his glasses on the ledge. He washed his face, trying to will some of the tension away before a headache started. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Catherine's advice came back to him. Did he need to be more direct? It wasn't in his nature to be open with his feelings. At this point could it hurt?

The trouble was he didn't like Sara. No, that wasn't true: Sara was very likable. _Like_ didn't describe the way she stole his breath when she stood close by, the way his heart raced when she brushed against him, the way one of her smiles could fuel a thousand fantasies. _Like_ was inadequate, incomplete._ But it is a start._

Grissom's smile turned to a wince; it couldn't have been more fake if he tried. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, working his facial muscles until he found a configuration that didn't seem to be forced. _This can't be a good sign if I can't smile convincingly. How often do I smile at myself? It'll be easier with Sara. Hopefully. _

"I like …," he began, frowning briefly. "Sara, I wanted you to know that I…"

Grissom whipped his head around when Archie walked in. When the tech gave no indication he'd overheard his supervisor talking to himself, Grissom grabbed his glasses and quickly headed out. This was stupid. Why was he taking Catherine's advice? _Because I need all the help I can get?_

Steeling himself, he tracked down Sara to get an update on the bombing case. Grissom found her at a workstation, a string of paper cups showing she was in full-caffeine mode. He'd been disappointed, but not entirely surprised, when he came in early to find Sara already at work. After her forced vacation, he hoped she would find a distraction.

He watched her silently for a moment. Considering all that had happened in the past 24 hours, maybe work was giving her a distraction from the personal turmoil. From the amount of coffee she drunk, it seemed she hadn't slept that day.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"Oh, hey, Grissom. This is weird. The bomb's a fake, but the blast caps are real. I tracked them down. They were stolen in West Virginia two weeks ago. Blast caps are hard to get, but not that hard. There's probably dozens of construction sites in Nevada alone using them."

"Think the would-be-bomber brought them with him?"

"Maybe. We have a list of people the gallery owners said would have a grudge," she said, picking up a thick stack of paper. "They know how to make an impression."

"Artists tend to be temperamental. A showing at a major gallery like Grimalkin's can make a career. And a bad word by them can end one."

"You think an artist could be involved?"

"Considering some of the ones I've met? It wouldn't surprise me," Grissom said. He paused a moment when Sara looked back at him. This was an opening. "My mother ran an art gallery. Some of the people she dealt with weren't exactly stable."

"Oh," Sara managed to say after a quick double take. Grissom making a personal admission was a rare occurrence, and she wasn't sure what to make of this one.

"Do you have a handle on this?" he asked after a long pause.

"I think so. Yeah."

"Let me know if you need help. With the art business, anything like that," he added quickly, hoping his first statement hadn't sounded harsh.

"Thanks."

Grissom rubbed his beard as he moved to his next destination. Walking into Trace, an overly chipper Hodges bounced over to greet him.

"Good news, boss. Well, potentially good news. Or not. I guess it depends on how you look at it."

"Can we stick with the facts and leave the interpretation alone?"

"Oh, sure. First, the gun. The solvent was the only thing we found on it," he said, handing over a printout. "The good news, so to speak, is the brand isn't what the police use. The type someone working here would have easy access to. Like if the killer came from the lab, what they could find."

"I know what you mean," Grissom stated.

"Right. Well, bad new is that it's the best-selling brand. Every sporting goods and department store carries it. Not going to be able to track it."

"What else?"

"From the gun? Nothing. It was cleaned too well. The grit Catherine pulled from the tires? It is consistent with dirt from the dumpsite. Unfortunately, it's also consistent with large areas of southern Nevada. There's nothing geologically significant about it. This is a sample of gravel from the access road. Quartz, feldspar potash, mica. Basic granite gravel. This piece of gravel was in the tires," he said, holding out a rock with greenish-black streaks. "It's mainly limonite, with some copper carbonate. Definitely not a match."

Grissom left the room silently, reading the printouts as he headed to his office. Hearing Warrick call his name, he paused to let him catch up.

"Sorry, man. I couldn't find anything at the dump site."

"I'm not surprised," Grissom said as he took a seat.

"Thanks."

"I meant the only evidence in this case is the amazing lack of evidence."

"Yeah. You questioned Sara," Warrick stated calmly.

"Yes."

"That sucks."

"You have no idea," Grissom agreed, looking up as Catherine walked in.

"The blood in the truck? A match to Hank."

"But the gravel in the tires doesn't match the scene."

"I talked to Hodges, too. The dirt is a match. Who knows how long that piece of gravel was in the tires?"

Grissom shrugged as he leaned back in his chair. "Which still doesn't prove a thing. At most, it's possible his truck was used to move the body. We haven't a single clue as to who did it."

"Any luck with the gun?" she asked.

"Four sets of prints on the evidence box. Two belong to the CSIs that investigated the crime, the other two belong to evidence vault clerks."

"Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They would have worn gloves," Warrick pointed out.

"They aren't that good," Grissom stated. "They cleaned the gun. That shows they don't know our procedures."

"Which would suggest the killer isn't from the lab," Catherine added with a smile.

"Hey, guys," Nick said as he breezed in. "Might have something. We found this in Hank's locker. Elaine Alcott stormed out of the station after looking in his locker a few months ago."

Grissom fought to keep his anger under control as he examined the photos. These were scenes he'd often imagined, scenes that crept into his dreams, but Sara was sharing them with another man. _Because I shut her out._

"They all of Sara?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah. And his partner said she was the only other woman Hank, uh, dated. Said he was serious about her."

"Shoots down Alcott's story that Sara didn't mean anything to him."

"She'll be glad to hear that," Warrick said. "That had to hurt her. You know she doesn't trust people easily. Bad enough he was cheating, but if she felt he was just using her?"

"Yeah. You know, I tried to hook Sara up with a buddy of mine when I heard she broke up with Hank," Nick said, not noticing the sharp look Grissom directed at him. "Now I know why she turned me down so quick."

"And she knows what kind of guys you have for friends," Catherine added with a smirk. "Okay, so Alcott let Hank off of the hook once. Then she finds this. I'm thinking she's not that forgiving."

"Let's not jump to conclusions. She wouldn't be the first jilted lover to delude themselves about their partner's indiscretions," Grissom pointed out. "How did she get the gun? How could she move the body? She's angry, and she's taking it out on Sara, but that doesn't make her a killer."

"Yes, she is," Catherine threw back. "She didn't hesitate to withhold treatment on a cancer patient that was dying. She could do it easily."

"There's a difference between killing a stranger through inaction, and deliberately planning and carrying out a murder of someone you know."

"She could do it," the blonde insisted.

A knock at the door caused the four CSIs to look sheepishly around. With an embarrassed grin, Sara stepped into the room, and placed a report on Grissom's desk. "You need to sign that, then you can get back to talking about me again. I have some evidence to go hide anyway."

Warrick was the first to laugh, getting up to drape an arm lightly around her shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry about losing it at the scene."

"You kidding me? Finally got proof you're human! About time. You were making the rest of us look bad."

"Oh, right," Sara said, blushing slightly, grateful when her pager went off. It didn't last long; Grissom's pager went off almost immediately afterwards.

"Vartan," she said.

"Me, too. Shall we?"

"I'll meet you there. Need to put some stuff away first."

"I'll give you a hand," Nick offered. When Warrick trailed after them, Catherine gave Grissom a sad smile.

"Remember what I said," she told him before leaving.

* * *

Grissom arrived in the interrogation room a few moments before Sara. Immediately, he noticed how tense the detective seemed. It didn't take long to see he was angry as well. Before he had a chance to question him, Sara walked in.

"Do you want to wait until Brass or your attorney gets here?" Vartan asked without preamble.

"No. What's up?"

"Do you know the access code to Peddigrew's security system?"

"I did. The old one."

"I checked with the security company. It hasn't been changed since you broke up."

"Okay."

"Nick found a bunch of pictures of you in Hank's locker."

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head so she could avoid Grissom's stare.

"Yes. Lots of keepsakes. Cards. Seems like an odd thing to do for something that was over."

"I don't know why he did it."

"Uh, huh. And the last time you spoke to him was?"

"A couple months ago at that bar fight. I told you," Sara said, clearly confused by the direction of the questioning.

"I know what you told me," he said hotly, leaning across the table. "Then how do you explain the phone calls?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I pulled his phone records. Over the last four months, there were a number of calls to your apartment from his house. Last one was on Friday, the day he was last seen alive. Why don't you start telling me the truth?"

_TBC_


	8. Ch 8

**Scorned********  
Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.**  
****A/N:** Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.**   
****Rating:** R**  
****Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

******Chapter 8**

"What?" Grissom exclaimed loudly, snatching the printout from Vartan's hands. What was he talking about? How could there be phone records? Sara said she hadn't talked to Peddigrew in months. The only way there could be records was if she lied.

_There has to be a mistake. _

A quick scan of the report verified it was the correct name and home address across the top of the page. Peddigrew wasn't a common name, and even if there had been two 'Hanks' in the city, they wouldn't have had the same address. Vartan hadn't gotten the wrong phone records by accident.

Letting out a sigh, Grissom ran his eyes down the page until he reached the first highlighted line. His stomach started churning as he triple-checked the digits. By the time he examined each of the multiple, yellow-marked lines, Grissom could feel the sweat running down his back.

Each one was Sara's home phone number.

_But she told us – told me – that she hadn't been in contact with him. That it was over between them. What's going on? Sara wouldn't lie to me. _

_She couldn't. I don't believe it. I don't want to believe it. _

_The evidence never lies. _

_God, the proof is right here. If she isn't lying, where did these come from? These phone calls, some of them lasted for minutes. That's a conversation. It's not like he called, then hung up. _

_Sara lied – she lied to me. Why? I thought I could trust her. I was ready to trust her with everything. How I could be so wrong? She lied to me. _

_That's what I thought before, when she told me she wasn't in a relationship with Peddigrew. I was wrong then. I didn't trust her. I should have. Unless she lied about that, too. What else has she lied about? _

_No. _

_God, what am I thinking? This is Sara. She wouldn't lie, not about something like this. I was wrong to believe Gerard. He was using my own fears against me. I know what he's like. It's the type of tactic he's mastered. _

_I pushed Sara away after that, practically drove her to Peddigrew. I ruined our friendship afterwards. Look how badly I screwed things up between us. I have to trust her. She deserves it. _

_But the evidence never lies. _

_Well, neither does Sara, dammit. There has to be another explanation. But what? I'm not thinking straight. _

Grissom dropped the report to the table as he looked to Sara, the fear and confusion clear on his face. He needed for her to explain what was going on. He desperately needed her to make things right. More than anything, he needed to know she hadn't deceived him.

Since Vartan produced the printout, Sara had been disturbingly quiet, staring at the detective. The tilt of her head and the crinkle around her eyes were the only hints she wasn't totally calm.

"Sara?" Grissom asked hopefully.

Turning to him, her mouth opened briefly, before she gave a slight shrug. Both men started when her hand reached around to the holster on her hip as she stood up. Before Vartan could reach his own weapon, Sara set the holstered gun on the table.

Grissom shook his head, his tongue licking his lips as he tried to decipher her actions. _Why would she surrender her gun? Was she turning herself in? God, no. She's not a killer. What then? God, she's quitting. She's leaving me. No, she can't. We'll work this out. _

When she pulled her key chain from her pocket, Grissom started frowning, looking to Vartan in confusion. The detective seemed equally bewildered and tense.

"Run any tests on it you want. Here's my car key. It's parked out front. My apartment. My locker. My safe deposit box," she said as she pushed each key across the table. "You don't need warrants. Check anything you want."

"We will," Vartan stated, pulling her gun out of her reach. "The phone calls?"

"I don't know! I never talked to Hank. I can't explain it."

"Oh, give me a break."

"I'm not stupid," Sara barked, resting her hands on the table and leaning towards him. "I knew you'd check the phone records. Why would I lie about something like that?"

Grissom's jaw dropped as he watched Vartan mimic Sara's aggressive position, trying to catch up on events. Sara wasn't leaving. She was as confused as he was. And she was starting to get angry. Decking the detective would definitely not look good on her evaluation.

"I don't know. Maybe you were careless. Maybe you thought a dumb cop couldn't catch a brainy CSI. Maybe you thought you'd be able to catch another break. Kept you out of jail last time."

"I don't want any special treatment. I haven't _asked_ for any special treatment. I don't know what's going on!"

"That's enough!"

The dueling pair both turned to stare at Grissom, who had also adapted the hands-on-table stance. He paused, closing his eyes as he tried to get his breathing under control. He couldn't help anyone if he didn't remain calm.

Internally, his instincts were in a pitched battle. The need to remain detached, to remain professional, was clear in his mind. It was a core part of who he was, and it was also necessary if they were going to solve the case. If this had been any other suspect, Grissom would understand Vartan's attitude. The evidence never lied, and at the very least, it suggested Sara lied to them, even if she wasn't their killer.

But another, more primal, instinct was fighting to emerge. He wanted to shield Sara, to protect her. On a logical level, Grissom knew Sara didn't need his protection, that she would probably resent any attempts to do so, but Vartan's comments about her near-arrest infuriated him. He remembered how sad and defeated she'd been that night. He never imagined she could reach that low of a point in her life. There was no way he would allow that to be used against Sara.

"You started the party without me. And here I wore a clean suit today," Brass stated as he barged into the room, moving to stand next to Sara. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he pushed gently while saying, "Sit". Turning to Vartan, he gave the other detective a sharp look. "Down."

Waiting until both had returned to their chairs, the captain focused on Grissom. "Next time, you wait until I get here. You knew I was on my way. Clear? Good," he said, sighing as he settled into his chair. "Now, why does everybody have their panties in a bunch?"

"Sara told us she hadn't been in contact with Peddigrew for months, but his phone records say otherwise."

"Hank's been calling you?"

"I guess so," Sara exhaled, vaguely waving a hand in the direction of the report.

"Really?"

"I haven't talked to him. I haven't!" Sara answered, turning to face Grissom. His slight nod and gentle expression surprised her, but at the same time his acceptance helped to calm her nerves.

Sara had no explanation for the phone calls, but she couldn't argue with the evidence. The phone calls had been made. No wonder Vartan had thought she was lying. Hell, she would be her own prime suspect if this were her case. And that bothered her. Logic was a guiding force in her life, and she had no logical way to explain the phone calls.

While there was no direct evidence linking her to the murders, it was clear she was the likely suspect. They couldn't convict her of the murder legally, but that wouldn't stop people from reaching their own personal verdicts. Normally, what other people thought of her didn't bother Sara, but her professional reputation was already on shaky ground.

That's why Grissom's reaction was so confounding. From past experience, she expected him to be the one doubting her. Instead, he'd reacted angrily, if only briefly, to Vartan's insinuations. And she could tell from his expression that he was angry for her, not because the lab's impartiality had been called into question.

Leaning her head back, she took a deep breath before turning to Brass. "I can't explain the phone calls. Look, there are my keys. I have nothing to hide. Process me. Process my stuff. I want answers as much as you do."

"Okay. You have any odd phone calls lately? Blank messages? Wrong numbers?"

"Yeah. But I get those all the time."

"Which?"

"All," she huffed. "There's a deli, Jack's Place. Our numbers are the same except for the last two digits. Mine ends in '24'. Their number ends in '42'. I get calls for them all the time. I even have messages from people placing orders."

"You didn't notice that they came from Hank's house?" Vartan asked coolly.

"Don't have Caller ID," Sara replied, looking at her folded hands. The truth was, she didn't get enough phone calls to justify the expense. At times, she wondered if she wasted money buying the answering machine. She was more likely to get someone else's message or dead air than something for her.

Had there been any more of those calls than usual? She spent little time at her apartment, but she still didn't pay much attention to wrong numbers or calls with no one on the other end. It was part of the irritating flotsam of the day that Sara took in stride.

"Okay. Did you drive here?" Brass asked. "I'll have Auto Detail take your car back to the lab. Why don't you go grab a soda? I'll give you a ride back in a few minutes."

Sara nodded, pausing briefly to give Grissom a grateful look. Once the door was closed, Brass leaned back in his chair, his gaze hovering between his two colleagues. "I was serious earlier. You question her again without me present, and you won't be sending me flowers. Capiche?"

"I asked if she wanted to wait for you. I asked if she wanted a lawyer. And I wasn't planning on sending you flowers."

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."

"Did you learn anything new?" Grissom asked impatiently.

"Besides the fact I can't leave you kids alone? Seems the deadly departed Peddigrew was still carrying a torch for Sara. And Alcott probably found out about it months ago. Right after that, she started making a lot of cash withdrawals from her checking account. More than $30,000 in the last six months."

"Could be a gambling problem," Vartan surmised. "Or bribe money. If she's the killer, she needed help to get the gun."

"I'll call Catherine. She can compare the time the calls were made to his work schedule. We know they were made from Peddigrew's house. That doesn't mean he was the one making them," Grissom pointed out eagerly.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Brass shrugged, nodding to Vartan. "Get Sara's phone records. See if the calls were returned. I'll check out Alcott."

"Right."

"Gil, you send someone over to process Sara's place. Make sure they grab the answering machine. Let's see if her story about blank messages holds up."

"You don't honestly think she could have killed Peddigrew."

"Of course I do," he replied gravely, mollifying his statement with a grin. "Probably the same odds that I'll be the next Miss America."

"That's one bathing suit contest I don't want to see. Jim, Sara didn't do this."

"My legs are one of my better features, I'll have you know. And it's nice you feel that way, Gil. But I don't have that luxury."

"It's a fact, not a luxury."

"Look, back in Jersey, there was a guy who lived down the block from us. Mousy guy. Real wimp. Well, eventually, his little admiral wouldn't salute anymore," Brass said, raising his finger graphically.

"I'm following you."

"Well, he was too embarrassed to see a doctor about it. And his wife, well, let's say she started looking for some active-duty seamen. Well, semen, anyway. Husband finds out. Kills both of them. Then chopped them to pieces. Found them in his freezer – he'd been feeding them to his neighbor's pet pit bulls."

"Nice neighborhood you lived in."

"Actually, for that town, it was. My point is, you never know about people. What makes serial killers so deadly? No one ever suspects they're serial killers."

"I can't believe you're considering her your suspect in this," Grissom huffed, holding his hands on the table.

"Oh, I never said she was my main suspect. That would be you."

Grissom's head snapped up as he stared at the police captain. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

"That if the killer is from the lab, it's probably you? Yeah. I could see you pulling a Lurie."

"What?"

"Give me some credit, Gil. I was there when you made your little speech to Dr. Lurie. I'm not stupid. I even used to head CSI. I know exactly what – and who – you were talking about."

Grissom blinked, wondering if his hearing condition had resurfaced in some new, bizarre configuration. It seemed the only way to explain what his brain insisted Brass was saying._ I'm a suspect? Me? He's serious, too. I wonder if it felt this surreal to Sara._ "Why would I kill Peddigrew?"

"Everyone can see things are rough between the two of you. Things started falling apart around the time Hank showed up. Easy to see that you'd blame him for your troubles."

"That's insane."

"Let's not forget the little promotion stunt you pulled. Any chance you had with Sara is probably shot to hell by now. Maybe she did get back with Peddigrew. Sounds like he treated her well, other than the cheating. Maybe you found out. If you couldn't have her, you sure as hell weren't going to let him have her."

"You're crazy if you'd think Sara would take Peddigrew back after what he did to her."

"I think Sara is too forgiving for her own good," Brass said lowly and pointedly. "Try looking in a mirror sometime."

Grissom raised an indignant eyebrow as he turned in his chair. It was unintentional, but the action did have him facing the mirrored window that opened into the observation room. What greeted him didn't impress Grissom.

_What did she see in me? She has to know by now that I'm not good with personal issues. But she stuck with me. What did Nick say? She didn't want to be hooked up with any of his friends. Being betrayed like that – that had to have hurt her deeply. Made her question her judgment. But she was willing to give me another chance. And I shut her out again. Is it really too late now? _

With a long sigh, Grissom spun back around, giving Brass a weak shrug.

"You really hurt her with that promotion. What the hell were you thinking? Don't get me wrong. Nick's a good guy. I'm the one who hired him. He works hard. He's made a lot of progress this last year, but he's not in Sara's league."

"I don't know," Grissom replied, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "At the time, it seemed the logical choice. I really thought I was making the right decision for the right reasons."

"You're serious?"

"Yes. Now … now, I don't know if I made the right decision for the wrong reasons, or the wrong decision for the right reasons."

"Don't forget the wrong decision for the wrong reasons."

"Or it could have been the right one for the right reasons," Grissom added sourly.

"Yeah. You _are_ stupid if you still believe that."

Grissom refrained from answering, closing his eyes as he tried to process everything that was going on. He knew he didn't kill Peddigrew, and short of a signed confession, there was no way he'd believe Sara was capable of it. _How to prove it? The bugs are the only solid evidence we have. Bugs – damn._

"I'm nearly done with the linear regression on the bugs. I think they'll finish maturing within in a day or two. I'll send a copy of all the data to Jan Kersbergen at the University of Boulder. She can verify my findings."

Brass smiled at his friend. "That'll be good. Doesn't make sense to have a suspect processing the evidence."

"I swear, Jim, I didn't do this."

"I know. I really don't believe either of you did it. I have to check. Job sucks sometimes."

"So I'm learning."

"Bit of advice: Send someone else to process Sara and her place. That's a strain neither of you needs right now."

"Sounds good to me."

Brass got up slowly, his head nodding from side-to-side as he carried on a mental debate. "One last piece of advice. Go talk to Sara. If you had reasons for giving Nick the recommendation, let her know. It might help."

"I think it's too late for that now," Grissom realized sadly.

"Tell her anyway. She deserves to know."

_TBC_


	9. Ch 9

**A/N: Keep up the effort to bring back Jorja and George. Until a formal statement has been issued by the stars, it's not too late. Go to amossley . com (remove the spaces) for information on contacting CBS executives and details on appreciation gifts/charity drive underway. **

**Scorned********  
Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.**  
****A/N:** Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.**  
****Rating:** R**  
****Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

******Chapter 9**

Entering the reception area, Grissom spotted Sara sitting alone in a corner. He tilted his head as he approached, surprised by how relaxed she seemed lounging in the chair. Given the intensity of the earlier exchange with Vartan, he expected her to be upset, but Sara was staring straight ahead with a look of calm concentration.

"It doesn't make any sense," she said levelly, finally looking up when he moved by her side. "The phone calls. I mean, they were made. We know that. It's a fact. But I can't explain it."

"Don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say."

Grissom's eyebrow rose at the joking tone. This really wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. "Let's go back to the lab. Brass got called away. I'll give you a lift."

"Oh. Okay. I don't pay that much attention to calls," she said as they moved into the parking lot. "I don't remember there being more wrong numbers lately, but it's not something I track, you know? They're irritating, but not that bad. God, hope I never need to be a witness."

"Witnesses are overrated anyway," he said, smiling at her tenacity in attempting to solve the riddle.

"No kidding," she laughed as they entered the car. Once under way, Sara began mentally reviewing the evidence again. "It's weird. Why would Hank call and not leave a message? He's not stalker material. Well, I don't think so. But I thought he was trustworthy, too. What do I know?"

Grissom frowned as he shot her a look. The self-deprecating remark didn't completely cover the hurt in her tone. He'd never considered that her breakup with the EMT would have been so painful. She never discussed it, never showed any outward signs of the turmoil this must have caused her.

_How much is she hurting now? If she could bury what she was going through before, is she doing it again? That probably isn't considered healthy behavior. Maybe I should get Catherine to talk to her. _

_. _

_Right. Catherine knows how to bully me into talking, but that wouldn't work with Sara. _

_I can't imagine what this must feel like. Alcott's accusations, the interviews, the suspicions. Anyone at the lab can find this out. She may have let us check her things voluntarily, but I don't think she's happy about it. Sara's trying to prove she has nothing to hide. Until we resolve this, it's going to be hanging over her head. _

"We'll figure it out," he offered kindly, turning in his seat to smile at her. When Sara dropped her head and looked out the side window, Grissom shifted position and started the car. Sara remained quiet until they reached the first traffic light.

"I didn't do it. I didn't talk to Hank. Not in months. Not over the phone."

"I know."

"How?" she laughed. "The evidence, Grissom. Remember? It never lies."

"But it can be interpreted incorrectly. And I believe you."

Sara turned and gave him a half-hearted grin. "Thanks. That means a lot. From you."

Grissom frowned at Sara's continuing surprise at his support. What bothered him more was the realization that she had every right to be leery of him. He'd let her down too often. _What's the friendly thing to do now? _

"Would you like me to take you home?"

"Think you need to stay in practice?"

"What? No. No, of course not," Grissom stammered even though she was teasing him.

"I already ditched the skeletons from the closet. Neighborhood dogs loved me."

"I said I believed you."

"Glad someone does."

"You have every reason to be upset with Vartan."

"I'm not upset. I'm not. I'm pissed," she said serenely, crossing her arms. "Can you believe he thinks I'm dumb enough to not alter the gun barrel? Five minutes with a file, and it never could have been matched."

"True," Grissom conceded.

"And I would have made it look like an amateur did this. Do something stupid like clean the gun before I returned it," she said. When Grissom slammed on the brakes as they approached the next light and turned to stare at her open-mouthed, she started chuckling. "Let me guess: the killer did that. Could you forget that part of the conversation?"

"Sara…"

"Don't tell me how serious this is, Grissom," Sara warned, her tone become firmer. "I know that. This is my life we're talking about."

"You seem very calm."

"Would you prefer if I freaked out?"

Grissom didn't answer, but considered the option. It might be uncomfortable for him, but he wondered if it might be healthier for her to vent._ The past year would have been easier on her if she had confided in someone._ "I don't think 'freaking' is necessary, but…"

Sara rolled her eyes before leaning her head against the headrest. _Grissom encouraging me to be talkative. About my emotions. That's rich._ "Grissom, what choice do I have? Every day, every case we work, we're deciding people's fates. Will an innocent man go to death row? Will a serial rapist go free?"

"Juries decide that."

"Based on what we tell them. You said it yourself: evidence is interpreted. If we screw up, we ruin someone. If I don't have faith that the system will work for me, how can I do that to other people? I didn't kill Hank. I know that. I have to wait to be cleared and go through the hassles like any other suspect."

"That's a very level-headed attitude to take," Grissom said as traffic started again.

"Managerial even? Not like that's ever going to be an option."

"Sara," he began, licking his lips as he collected his thoughts.

"Sorry. You didn't deserve that."

Grissom didn't respond, but did dart his eyes to her. Brass was right; before they could move forward, they'd have to talk about this. At the next intersection, he turned off the main highway to a side street.

"Where are we headed?" Sara asked.

"Lunch."

"What?"

"Neither of us has eaten. There's a quiet place up the road."

"I need to get back to work, Grissom."

"What's the rush? Your bomb will still be there when we get back. You did say it was a dud," he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood. "It won't explode on you."

"Around here, you never know," she muttered.

"It's safe. Catherine's in the field."

_What did he say?_ Sara snapped her head around in time to catch Grissom's wink. "Let me buy you lunch."

Sara watched him with open curiosity. "Why?"

"We need to talk."

"Now?" she snorted. "You think it would do any good?"

"Can it do any harm?"

"Not really sure I want to find out."

"Sara," Grissom sighed, wondering how to proceed. _What would be an effective way of convincing her to at least listen? She's fair. No one can argue that point._ "Please."

Closing her eyes resignedly, she leaned back in the seat. At this point, she'd get back to work sooner by letting him have his say. This was Grissom. How long could a conversation take? "Fine."

Their destination was a virtually unknown eatery that catered to the truck drivers that brought in the early morning shipments of fresh produce and meats. At this time of night, it would be deserted. Still, Grissom felt it better to broach what promised to be a volatile subject while they were alone.

"I know you're upset over the promotion. But there will be other opportunities."

"Not for me."

The dejection in Sara's tone caused Grissom to start. It was in stark contrast to her earlier lighter mood. "There will be other opportunities," he repeated. "Prior recommendations aren't considered."

"Grissom, I'm screwed, recommendations or not."

"Don't worry about this case, Sara. It won't hurt your career. There's no evidence that can tie you to the murder."

"I know that," she exhaled. "It has nothing to do with this case, or any case. You don't get it, do you?"

"It would seem not," he said, pulling into a parking lot. "Tell me."

"What difference does it make now?"

"You're angry with me."

"I'm not. Not any more. Disappointed maybe. Doesn't really matter."

"It does to me," Grissom stated. "I want to understand what I did."

"Why? And I did this to myself. You just planted the seed."

"What seed?"

Sara sighed silently. She wondered if Grissom really wanted to have this conversation. Confronting personal things head-on wasn't his normal style. She was certain he didn't know what he was getting into. _Well, he asked for it. Might feel good to finally get this out._

"Doubt."

"I'm not sure I understand," Grissom said.

"In Cavallo's mind. Look at it objectively. Both Nick and I have comparable experience. I have a better education. I have a better solve-rate. I got better evaluations. I never, ever, screwed up a case, or had a blemish on my record. Well, at that time. But you wouldn't recommend me," she said, turning in her seat to stare him down. "Get it yet?"

"No," he admitted.

"Why wouldn't you recommend me if I was more qualified professionally? Has to be something wrong with me, personally. Something that never got on my record. Maybe I had nasty BO. Stole people's lunches from the break room. Or being the office drunk qualifies."

Grissom opened and closed his mouth as she continued to glare at him. When he didn't respond, she shook her head and turned away. "It's not your fault. I did this to myself. Let's go."

"I think you're overreacting," Grissom said, reaching over to rest a hand on her shoulder. "What happened that night isn't being held against you. I've never mentioned it to Cavallo or Atwater."

"Do you honestly think they don't know what happened? The whole damn police force knows I got pulled over. The very first thing they do is check the license plate. It's on tape at the Call Center. They may not have charged me, but the record exists."

"We all make mistakes. If we were fired for all of them, there wouldn't be anyone left on the force."

"Like I said, Cavallo was already wondering why you didn't recommend me. You telling me he hasn't made any comments? No questions about my work?"

_He was worried that Sara was working the Grimalkin Gallery bomb. But that wasn't because of the drinking incident. It's because of Peddigrew's murder. Cavallo's worried that – what? She's the killer? He would have suspended her immediately if he thought it was remotely possible. _

"That was never my intention."

"Actions have consequences, Grissom," Sara said, shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "Too bad you picked those actions."

Grissom watched her quietly for a moment before getting out of the car. Walking around to her side, he politely opened her door, waiting for her to exit. "Let's go inside."

Sara looked around their surroundings with a baffled and apprehensive expression. "We're eating here?"

"It's not bad. Their main customers are the drivers making deliveries to the casinos. This time of night, they aren't very busy. We can talk without being bothered."

"You still want to talk?" she asked incredulously.

"I want to explain."

"What's to explain?"

"The promotion. I didn't recommend Nick to hurt you. At the time, I honestly thought I made the right decision. You deserve to know why."

"Oh, this I have to hear."

Grissom choose to ignore the obvious sarcasm as they entered the dinner, requesting a booth in a far corner. Once the waitress had delivered their coffee and taken their orders, he took a deep breath.

"On technical merits, you were the better candidate. But when it comes to personal merits, Nick was better. I had to choose between those. In the end, I picked Nick."

"I didn't get the job because I'm not a people person? This coming from you?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying. I don't mean personal when dealing with others. I meant dealing with yourself."

"That makes no sense."

Grissom looked down at his folded hands. There were so many things running through his mind when he made the promotion, he wasn't sure if he could truly isolate one. "Sara – you work too hard already. If you had gotten the promotion, you would have worked harder."

"What? You made a decision that affected my entire career over how I choose to spend my time? Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"

"The promotion was more a title than anything else. You'd have been flooded with extra paperwork."

"So? I'm not you, Grissom. You're the one who hates paperwork. I accept it as part of the job."

"But you'd have less time to spend in the field," he said.

"So what? I wanted that promotion. I knew what it meant. Dammit, Grissom, I know my life is shitty, but it's the only one I have," she said wearily. "You had no right to screw with me."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Yeah."

"I didn't realize you weren't happy at the lab," he told her earnestly.

"I never said I wasn't. Maybe coming into the lab every day is enough for you. But it's not for me. I wanted more," she said, giving him an emotional look. "I need more."

Both remained quiet as their sandwiches were brought over. Grissom looked at Sara apologetically, but she remained focused on her sandwich. He could tell that his intentions had been misconstrued.

_Well, that wasn't what I planned. Talking to her only made things worse. If I try to explain things, will I make her angrier? At this point, do I really have much to lose? _

"I wanted you to have better."

"Better what?"

"A better life."

Sara set down the sugar pourer in shock. Staring at him speechless for a minute, she turned her head, shaking it as she composed herself. When Sara did speak, it wasn't the reaction Grissom anticipated.

"What the hell kind of answer is that? And who the hell gave you permission to decide what was best for my life?"

He blinked in confusion. "I was worried."

"So trashing my career is how you show it? Thanks a lot, Grissom."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I thought I was acting in your best interests."

"Just drop it. What's done is done. There's nothing left to say."

"Yes, there is," he insisted, reaching over to take her hand. "I am sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"What are your intentions, then? What made you do this? You could have just told me. I would have withdrawn my application."

Sara waited for him to drop her hand, to break eye contact, but he didn't. It took him a moment to respond, but when he did, his voice was full of pain.

"I didn't want you to wake up one day and realize that most of your life was gone. That you'd probably lost your only chance to … I wanted you to be happy, to find a life outside of work," he said, moving his other hand over to massage her fingers. "I didn't want you to become me."

"I'm trying to find that other life, Grissom. I've tried. You saw how well it's turned out."

"Don't let that incident with Peddigrew discourage you."

"What makes you think that was my only mistake? The lab explosion? The reason I was caught in it – I was tracking you down to ask you out. Talk about not taking a hint."

Immediately after she said it, Sara wished she hadn't. Grissom paled dramatically, his eyes full of shock. He'd never known the reason why she'd been in the hallway at the time of the explosion. In his mind, he always wondered if Sara's invitation had been a reaction to her injuries; Grissom never considered it was the cause of them. "I didn't know."

She pulled her hand free, reaching for the coffee mug. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I'm not really hungry anymore. I'll go wait outside."

"Wait," he said, tossing some bills on the table. "I don't think I could eat now."

"I am sorry, Grissom. I shouldn't have said that."

"I think you needed to," he said tightly. _I wanted her to vent. Sara doesn't disappoint, that's for certain. _

The ride back to the lab was silent. Once he parked his car, Grissom rested his hand on Sara's arm to prevent her from leaving. "I won't let Cavallo hold any of this against you. I'll make sure of it."

"What can you do?" she asked sadly. "You can't change peoples' impressions. All I can do is try to rebuild my reputation."

"I'll help."

"You can't, Grissom. I made this mess. I have to fix it."

Sara exited the car quickly, making a beeline for the lab. She was surprised at the footsteps behind her. She knew Grissom's knees bothered him; walking that fast would be uncomfortable for him. _As much as the conversation had been? He never stopped me. He let me get this off my chest. That couldn't have been easy. _

Partway across the parking lot, she paused and turned to stare at him. Grissom slowed his approach, watching her intently.

"I thought I knew you. I guess I was wrong."

Grissom rubbed a hand over his beard as she walked away. Sara hadn't been accusatory. If anything, she sounded remorseful. When she stopped again, he closed the distance between them, waiting as she rolled her shoulders and steeled herself.

"To make a choice, you have to have at least two options. I didn't think I had any choice," she said, turning to face him. "I never picked Hank over you. I honestly thought you weren't interested. I'm sorry."

As she headed into the lab, Grissom stood in the parking lot staring after her disbelievingly. He'd been her first choice?

_TBC_


	10. Ch 10

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 10 **

"You had no idea?" Hodges asked, spinning around on his lab stool and clutching a printout to his chest.

Sara stared at the lab tech in silent bewilderment. She knew it was only a matter of time before the truth about her relationship with Hank became common knowledge around the lab. She knew it would then become the grist of the office rumor mill. She expected to be the recipient of awkward attempts at obligatory condolences, maybe the subject of nervous, whispered conversations.

Being a source of amusement never crossed her mind.

"No. I didn't. Do you have my results?" Sara said coolly, giving him a stony glare as she held out her hand for the report.

"He was cheating on you that whole time, and you never suspected a thing? Nothing at all?"

"No. My results?" she repeated, taking a step forward to snatch the papers from him, but Hodges hopped off the stool and moved towards his bench, laughing all the way. She watched him incredulously, fighting to keep her temper under control. "You think this is funny?"

"No, I think it's hilarious! Oh, come on! This is too rich! I mean a CSI in one of the best labs in the country and you can't spot when your boyfriend cheats on you. For months! You never noticed any of the warning signs. No pictures at his place. Never visited his parents. None of that stuff."

"I wasn't looking," Sara replied, a warning clear in her tone.

"You must feel so stupid."

"Don't page me again unless you actually have my results," she snapped. Plans for a sharper retort died when she noticed Grissom observing from the hallway. Chewing out Hodges – no matter how much he deserved it – wouldn't be the best career move at the moment.

Grissom hadn't said anything since her near-DUI, but she knew he'd been keeping tabs on her. As far as she could tell, he was treating the entire incident as an unfortunate mistake, not as a sign that she had a drinking problem. And she didn't; a hell of a lot of other problems, yeah, but being an alcoholic wasn't one of them. Sara knew she was lucky to still have her job. She wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize it.

Marching back to the Layout Room, she took a deep breath to help calm her nerves. She hadn't slept since finding Hank's body. Normally, it wouldn't bother her, but the last two days hadn't been normal. Not only had she found the partially eaten body of the only lover she had in years, she was a suspect in his murder. Both her personal and private lives were being scrutinized. Her reputation had been maligned, a fact that would remain part of the permanent record in this case.

And the worst part was Sara couldn't do anything about it. Clearing her name rested entirely on her co-workers. She trusted their abilities, and her earlier comments to Grissom about having to have faith in the system were true, but it still grated Sara that she had to be passive. It wasn't in her nature to leave her fate to others.

_And I can't nail whoever did this to Hank. _

Taking another deep breath, Sara rested the palms of her hands on the table. Why did she care about that?

_Because Hank was a bastard, but he didn't deserve to die like that. No one does. No matter what he did to me, he's the victim now. He needs justice. _

_The others can solve that, too. I don't owe him anything. Hank used me. It was a meaningless fling to him. _

_Like Alcott would know. She never saw us together. Hank probably lied about that, too, but he did care. I couldn't have been that blind. He went out of his way to do things for me, to check up on me. You can't fake something like that, can you? _

Closing her eyes, Sara's mind wandered back to her time with Hank. She would never forget the way he'd hurt her, but at the same time she couldn't dismiss what they had. He'd been the only man she'd been involved with since she moved to Vegas. At the time, Hank provided her with something she needed in her life. It seemed like they had a future. She hadn't been in love with him then, but she wasn't using him, either. She was willing to try; she wanted it to work between them.

And she thought Hank felt the same. They'd had fun together, but he also helped her. Hank could always tell when something was bothering her, and had a way of coaxing it out without pressuring her. He never judged, but would pull her into a hug, a compassionate look in his eyes.

_The maggots eating the eyes in his rotting corpse. _

With a shudder, Sara snapped her own eyes open, feeling a cold sweat trickling down her back. A shaky hand reached out to start sorting her remaining evidence. That wasn't the way she wanted to remember Hank. Actually, she'd prefer to forget about him entirely, but she knew that would never happen.

For better or worse, he been part of her life, and the experience would stay with her. It had been a painful, humiliating realization that he'd been lying and cheating on her the entire time. How someone could do that to another person surprised her. How she could fall for it concerned her.

Sara liked to think of herself an independent, self-reliant person. She was well educated, intelligent, and capable. Not counting her recent troubles, she'd always been responsible. So why didn't she want to be alone? What was it that scared her? Was it a normal need, to be with someone?

Especially a certain someone. Someone who, despite his recent support, had already decided she wasn't worth an effort. Why couldn't she move on?

Lost in her thoughts, Sara didn't realize that someone had entered the room until Grissom moved beside her. Jerking her head up, she smiled sheepishly as she took the Trace report he held out to her.

"I guess it can't be too bad," she began with an embarrassed shoulder shrug. "People must not think I'm killer material if they're deliberately pissing me off."

Grissom's lips twitched as he watched her. She was taking all of this much better than he would have if their positions had been switched. Alcott's insults, Vartan's suspicions, Sara's admissions about her failed relationship – they were all part of the evidence in this case. Anyone in the lab could retrieve it from the LIMS database. Well, if she could joke about it, so could he.

"Actually, you're not everyone's primary suspect. Brass thinks that's me. That I killed Peddigrew in a jealous rage."

Sara's fumbling the folder in her hand was Grissom's first clue that his joke had failed miserably. When she darted first her eyes, then her whole head to stare at him in shock, he quickly tried to recover.

"He's wrong. About killing him. I didn't," he explained with a sigh. "That sounded funnier in my head."

"Don't sweat it, Grissom," Sara said after a long silence, shrugging as she went back to work on her evidence. When he didn't leave, she braced her arms on the table.

"I warned you before. About over-talking. What I said at the diner? I shouldn't have. That wasn't fair to you. It wasn't your fault I got caught in the blast. Just bad timing."

"In more ways than you know," he responded softly. He held out his hands when she gave him a sharp look. "When you asked me to dinner later, I was on my way to an appointment. It was a bad time. And I thought that your asking, well, maybe that was a reaction to the explosion."

"Oh."

"That's not an excuse. I'm not trying to rationalize my behavior. You deserved an answer that wasn't so curt."

"Grissom, look. Don't worry."

"I want you to know that I was being honest when I said I didn't know what to do," he said slowly. "This, all of this,…"

"Grissom, please," Sara urged. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a sad look. "Just drop it. I know. Okay? I know. What's done is done. Don't dwell on it."

He watched quietly as she walked around the table and began examining her evidence. It was clear Sara didn't want to talk about it, but he didn't want to give up so easily. Her comments from earlier still stung, but they also gave him hope. She _had_ wanted to be with him. It was a fact that he was having trouble fully comprehending, but maybe they still had a chance. If she wouldn't accept his apology, he could at least let her know that he did care.

"How's the case coming?"

"Good. One of the artists on the gallery owner's list of people with grudges is from Ohio. Arvel Belcher. Less than 35 miles from the construction site where the blasting caps were stolen. Has the same last name as the site's foreman. That can't be a common name."

"I can only imagine the etymology behind it."

Sara flashed him a grin. "The local police are checking up for us, seeing if the two are actually related. O'Riley's been talking to Belcher. He's pretty nervous."

"Think you'll have this wrapped up soon?"

"I think so. The Trace results show that some of the bomb components are consistent with Belcher's art entry that Grimalkin rejected. Is something up?"

"You still have plenty of vacation time left," Grissom stated, giving her an appraising look. "Why don't you use it?"

"You don't want me handling cases. Or you're getting pressure from Atwater."

"No. To both. This can't be easy. Having to listen to all the gossip and speculation can't be helping."

"And you actually think my leaving won't cause more gossip?" Sara asked, twisting her head and raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"You won't have to listen to it," he offered.

"Thanks, but I'd rather stay in the loop. Besides, I think I'm going to have to answer some more questions soon."

After her mysterious answer, Grissom moved to stand beside her, tilting his head as he took in her appearance.

"Have you slept?"

"Yeah."

"Since you found his body?"

Sara paused in her examination of the digital thermometer that had been used as the bomb's 'timer' to consider his question. True to form, just when she thought Grissom couldn't confuse her anymore, he found a way to do it. Looking up at him, a small smile formed at his obvious concern.

"I'll be fine," she said, rolling her eyes when he crossed his arms. "I'm off tomorrow."

He rested his hand on the small of her back, but before he could say anything, Sara firmly repeated her assertion.

"Right," he said slowly, giving her a backwards look as he moved into the hallway. Knowing Sara, he doubted she'd actually use the time to rest, but even he could tell she didn't want to discuss it further.

Making his way to his office, Grissom couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something. Sara had cut him off when he tried to apologize. Didn't she believe him? No, it seemed she was … what? Resigned? What had she said? 'I know.' What did she know? And why did it make her so sad?

He directed a scowl at the still nervous Hodges as he passed Trace. The tech's boorish comments to Sara were unprofessional and totally uncalled for, and Grissom had made sure he knew it. The LIMS system wasn't intended to be a source of gossip.

Grissom stopped short, causing Jacqui to almost run into him. "Sorry," he muttered as he turned back to look at the Layout Room. Anything said in the interrogation room would eventually be entered into evidence. Anyone in the lab could access it.

That included his conversation with Dr. Lurie.

_God, had Sara read that? If so …damn. I never meant for her to find out, not like that. I wasn't thinking straight. Dammit. All that's happened since then – how would she interpret my actions? _

Grissom knew he'd have to do something. A germ of a plan started forming in the back of his mind; now wasn't the time, though. Turning around to head to his office, he caught sight of Warrick ducking into one of the labs and called out to him.

With a groan, Warrick moved deeper into the room and set down the bags of evidence. It was bad enough he had to process Sara's apartment, but he wanted a chance to talk to her before he had to report to Grissom. There had to be a logical explanation for all the things he found.

"How did it go?" Grissom asked, frowning when Warrick closed the door to the room.

"For processing your friend?"

"She volunteered. Sara wants her name cleared," Grissom pointed out levelly.

Warrick nodded, hoping his boss's calm approach remained. There was no telling how he'd react to this. Best to get the mundane stuff out of the way first.

"Her place was really clean, but this is Sara. No big surprise there. I grabbed her appointment book. It's written in shorthand, but I knew that already. I dropped the answering machine off with Archie. He'll start on it first thing tomorrow. He has to be in court this morning."

"Make sure Catherine gets the appointment book. She's checking the time of the phone calls. What else?"

"I left her computer in A/V as well. I took a quick look while I was in her place. Basic stuff, mainly. E-mails, online banking."

"Mainly?"

"Her resume had been updated before she went on vacation."

Grissom shrugged. "I'm not surprised. She wasn't happy about the promotion."

"Understatement," Warrick said, fidgeting with the last paper sack until Grissom gave him a sharp look. "I found these, but they were in a box, in the back of the closet. They weren't out in the open."

"What?"

"Hank's clothes and stuff. Well, I guess they're Hank's. Size is right, t-shirt is from the Fire and Rescue," he added as he pulled out individual plastic bags of boxers, shirts, sweat suit, a watch and other odds and ends. "But the bed was clean – hadn't been shared with anyone recently."

"Get that logged. Sara's in Layout," Grissom said, scratching his beard as he left the room. The clothes were packed away. They weren't being used. It wasn't anything to be concerned about.

He repeated the mantra as he made his way to his office. Not trusting Sara once had caused all of their troubles. His inter-personal skills may not be the best, but Grissom wasn't stupid. That wasn't a mistake he was going to make again. Looking at the bugs collected from Peddigrew's corpse, he began to update his logs. Clearing her name was the best thing he could do for Sara now.

* * *

"Hey."

Sara smiled as Warrick hesitantly entered the examination room with his kit. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when he reluctantly began unpacking supplies.

"Hey, yourself! Find anything good at your scene?" she teased.

Warrick gave her a pointed look as he pulled on a pair of gloves. Leave it to Sara to try to relieve his tension when she was the one with the problems.

"Oh, relax. I'd be investigating me if this were my investigation. And I don't have anything to hide."

"Well, I gotta tell you," he said gravely. "That stuff growing around your toilet – that was really nasty."

"What?"

"Gotcha," Warrick laughed, smiling at her indignant snarl. "If I hadn't known it was your place, I'd have been suspicious over how clean it was. Control freak like you, though, that's normal."

"I'm not a control freak," she protested, giving him a smirk.

"Right. Hey, I was as neat as I could be, but…"

"Yeah, I know. The place is a mess. Gives me something to do when I get home."

"You could sleep you know," Warrick said as he took her hand in his, running a finger lightly over the scraped knuckles. "That happened when you tripped?"

"Yeah. And I never sleep. Ever. I'm a robot," she retorted, wondering when her sleep patterns became of so much interest to the lab.

"A robot that runs off caffeine?"

"Sugar. Caffeine's just for kicks."

"Makes sense. And those people in the apartment above you?"

"Don't ask. I have no idea what they do up there. Well, I know _what_ they're doing, just not _how_ they're doing it. And you did that," Sara said when he noticed the bruising around her wrist. "When you drove us off the road. I hit it on the dash."

"Sorry. Your resume was up-to-date," he stated, giving her a pointed stare before he began examining her other hand.

"Yeah."

"But you're still here."

"Very observant! I decided not to go." The thought of taking a job in another city had been tempting, but it was too much like running away. Moving wouldn't solve her troubles; it would only make them more distant.

"Good thing. Well, you wouldn't be in this mess if you had, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And thanks."

"No problem. So, when did you become a fetish freak?"

"What?"

"What's the deal with keeping Hank's underwear?"

"He left them at my place," Sara replied simply. "I wasn't going to take them back to him, but they weren't mine to toss. When we broke up, I didn't know if he'd come back for his stuff or not. Tossed it in the closet. Didn't think any more about it."

"You would do that," Warrick decided as he released her hand.

"Do I have to process myself? 'Cause that would really suck, you know. And I don't think it would be admissible in court."

"What? Oh, yeah," Warrick said when she pointed to the camera. He quickly snapped photos of her hands from multiple angles.

"Don't get carried away. You're not getting full-body shots without a warrant."

"Damn, girl! Take away the one fun thing I had to look forward to."

Sara snorted as she held her arms for him to photograph. "This is Vegas, Warrick You could find a lot better without any trouble."

"Don't sell yourself short," he said, grinning when Sara blushed. After scrapping under her nails, he gave her a questioning look when she opened her mouth.

"DNA. I could have altered the compliance database. Get my prints, too."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Hating the whole thing," Sara admitted once he finished with the mouth swab. "I hate not being able to do anything, not being able to explain what's going on. I hate why there's an investigation to begin with. No point in making your life miserable, too."

"Yeah, let me tell you, this isn't my idea of fun," Warrick stated as he gathered his fingerprinting supplies.

"I know what you mean."

"I guess you do," Warrick admitted as he leaned back on his heals. "But you weren't investigating a friend."

Sara gave him an embarrassed smile. "Doesn't mean I liked it. Or that the others made it any easier. I didn't want to investigate you. Either time."

Warrick stood up slowly, giving her a level gaze as he did so. "Look, if you'd rather have someone else doing the investigation, I'd understand."

"Why would I want that?"

"If you're worried about payback."

"I'm not," she said, giving him a friendly smile. "There's no one on the team I'd rather have doing this."

"Thanks. Really. This sucks. I know you didn't kill Hank Not in cold-blood. But I know we have to treat you like any other suspect."

"But you're still not getting full-body shots."

Warrick laughed as he began to expertly print both of her hands. "I probably should let Greg do this for practice, but I don't think that's a good idea. He's not taking your being questioned very well."

"My hero," she said sarcastically. "Hey, if anyone in the lab gives you any trouble, send them to me. I'll take care of them."

Warrick paused in his work, looking at her in mock-horror. "You know, under the circumstances, a comment like that should scare me. Really scare me."

It started as a chortle, but a full laugh soon followed, surprising Sara with its intensity. She knew it was a stress release, a reaction to the constant tension she'd been under since finding Hank's body. Still, when the tears started, she blushed, wiping them away quickly before Warrick pulled her into a brief hug.

"Thanks," she whispered gratefully to her friend.

_TBC_


	11. Ch 11

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 11 **

Walking into the DNA Lab, Warrick noticed the chilly reception immediately. The usually energetic Greg barely acknowledged his presence when he laid down the samples collected from Sara earlier. He wasn't really surprised; Greg had been very vocal in his indignation that she had been called in for questioning.

"These go with Hank's murder."

"I hear you, Benedict."

"Oh, don't even think of going there," Warrick groaned wearily. Figures it would be Greg that got on his case. He wondered how much grief Sara had gone through when she'd investigated him, and she'd been an outsider then. Besides, it wasn't like he wanted to do it. "I'm just doing my job."

"Nuremberg established that isn't a defense."

"You really don't want to go there," Warrick said dangerously.

"Fine. Overboard, perhaps, but Sara isn't a killer," Greg stated firmly, turning around in his chair to lecture his companion. "Killer intellect? Yes. Killer looks? Most definitely yes. Killer killer? No way."

"Prove it."

The lab tech blinked several times before shaking his head. "I can't believe you are investigating Sara."

"Well, I can't believe Grissom is going to let you be a CSI," Warrick tossed out, sighing when Greg shot him a hurt puppy-dog expression. Rolling his eyes, he leaned against the lab bench and crossed his arms. "Look, man, you know the deal. You have to remain objective. Doesn't matter if she's our friend. Don't forget Sara volunteered for this."

"Like she had a choice."

"She did," Warrick said, deciding to try another tactic. "Don't you want to help her?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then do your job, Greg. Do what we always do. We process all the evidence we have, and we eliminate possible suspects. Prove that she didn't do it. Let's clear her name. Do your best work."

"I always do."

"Cool, man. Keep this up, and we'll let you watch when we do the re-enactment."

"Thanks! And you're right. Sorry about the Benedict comment."

"You better be. Sara'll kick your ass if she finds out you hassled me," Warrick said as he left the room, turning back with a smirk. "And I said _kick_. Don't get your hopes up."

Following the sounds of angry swearing, he tracked Catherine to the middle of an empty lab, the tables around her covered in papers.

"Peddigrew was allergic to cash. He had to be," Catherine huffed when she noticed him. "He used a credit or debit card for everything. Hell, he charged a single tube of toothpaste. Who does that?" she added, tossing an offending credit statement to the table as she sank into a chair.

"Money troubles?"

"Doesn't look like it. He paid off his balances at the end of most months. Owed money on his house and truck, but he never missed a payment on either. I'm telling you, he's allergic to cash."

"So we can rule out robbery as a motive," Warrick teased.

"Yeah, like anyone thought that was a possibility. My money is still on Alcott."

"Too bad there isn't a shred of evidence linking her to the killing."

"They were good, whoever did this. This wasn't a last-minute thing. They planned it. They didn't leave any evidence lying around to incriminate themselves."

"Right now, I'd settle for being able to clear Sara completely."

"I'm looking," Catherine said. "I checked the timing of the phone calls to Sara's place against Hank's work and training schedule. He was off at the time of each one."

"That doesn't help. What about Sara's records?"

"She didn't call him from her cell or her apartment."

Warrick leaned down, resting his arms on the table. "Sounds like you're leaving something out."

"There are plenty of calls made from the lab to the station house that coincide with Sara and Hank's schedules."

"We call them all the time. Checking who walked around a scene, what they handled. Hell, I know Nick's called Hank's partner a couple times about the softball league."

"I know. It doesn't show Sara talked to him. But we can't prove she didn't."

"Reasonable doubt," Warrick said with a sigh.

"Yeah. So, I'm checking the time of the calls to Sara against Hank's receipts. See if I can show he didn't make one of them."

"Good luck," he chuckled, looking at the stacks of statements. "I logged Sara's appointment book in the Evidence Vault."

"That'll help. I'll look at it when I get done with these."

"I'll warn you – she writes in shorthand."

"Of course she does," Catherine said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Guess I can't get her to translate it for me. I'm rusty."

"You took shorthand? How long ago?"

"Never you mind," she told him with a playful grin, stretching as she stood up. "Coffee?"

"Sounds good to me."

Walking towards the break room, they spotted Sara storming from the Layout Room with a confused Nick and Greg following behind her.

"We're just saying Hank was an idiot," Greg called out as Sara walked away. "An ass, actually."

"Right," Nick added. "World-class ass."

"Total jerk."

"A scumbag."

"I'm not in the mood for this," Sara stated.

"You're better off without the creep. He didn't deserve you."

"Oh, they can't be that stupid," Catherine sighed as they passed by.

"They are," Warrick replied. Exchanging a shrug, they joined Sara's invective entourage as it headed towards the break room.

"And I told you to drop it," Sara exclaimed when the pair continued their strings of insults.

"What's going on?" Grissom asked, the commotion drawing him from his office.

"Sara's getting ready to kill Nick and Greg," Catherine told him. "Totally justifiable."

"Huh?"

"Guys, knock it off," the blonde warned when the pair didn't pick up on the signs that Sara was losing her temper.

"Oh, come on," Greg continued. "I'd say Hank was pond scum, but that would be an insult to all disease-carrying, germ-infested, stinky, slimy, anaerobic, aquatic microbes."

He jumped when Sara slammed her mug on the counter, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed on her own hand.

"And he treated me better than just about anyone else since I got to Vegas. What does that say about me then?" she demanded before storming out of the room.

While the others exchanged bewildered looks, Catherine shook her head slowly. Moving to the doorway, she leaned against it, effectively trapping the others in there.

"You know," she began with a drawl, "I was so happy when I divorced Eddie. It felt incredible. I threw a party when it was final. My only regret was I didn't do it sooner. But you know what? Over 95 percent of the time, things between us were great. Better than great. But that other five percent? It stank. It was enough to outweigh the other 95 percent. But it can't change the fact that most of the time, things between us couldn't have been better."

"We were just trying to cheer her up," Nick said defensively.

"Well, you're lucky she didn't kick your asses," Catherine stated before leaving the room. "If you had pulled that shit when Eddie died, you'd still have my shoe up your colon."

"Did we do something wrong?" Greg asked.

"Sara isn't a player. Hank's the only guy she's dated since coming to Vegas. It's not like she didn't have plenty of other opportunities. She turned them down," Warrick explained, giving Grissom a brief, measured look. "Forget her own troubles. Hank meant something to her. Don't know what. Doesn't matter how it ended. He gave her something she needed. Somewhere, inside, this has to be eating at Sara."

"I think we blew this," Nick said sheepishly.

"Probably," Warrick agreed, watching as Grissom left the room, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

* * *

Alcott opened the door slowly, blinking in the early morning sunlight. When Brass held out his badge to her, she frowned as she moved onto the front step, closing the door behind her. "Hank's parents aren't up yet. This is the first time they've slept since … we found out. That other detective already talked to them."

"Actually, I'm here to talk to you. Mind if we go inside?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Ms. Alcott, I know you're upset. It's understandable. Your last interview didn't go well. That's why I'm here now. I just have a thing or two to clarify."

"Fine."

"Now, according to your statement, things between you and Hank were good. But we have a report that you stormed out of the station house."

"When? I don't remember that."

"It would have been about seven or eight months ago."

"I can't help you. That doesn't ring a bell," she said after a moment's consideration.

"It was the last time you stopped in to leave Hank a present."

"I was probably in a hurry. I used to stop in during my lunch hour, but since I switched jobs, I don't have the free time any longer. My old office was a lot closer to the station."

"Uh, huh. We also heard you tried to get Hank to change jobs, too. You weren't too … happy with his being a paramedic."

"You've been talking to Mike," she sighed. "He's never liked me. Hank used to date his sister before we got together. And all I did was ask Hank to consider a new job. Being an EMT is dangerous, detective. You should know that."

"So, you were just looking out for him?"

"Yes. Hank wasn't getting any younger. The odds of him being injured on the job went up every year. I was worried."

"Okay. Now, it seems like you've been withdrawing some extra cash lately."

Alcott looked around nervously before wrapping her arms around herself tightly. "I told you – new job takes up my free time. I eat out for breakfast and lunch most days. Traveling more."

"Well, the price of gas has really gone up, but unless you're driving a Sherman tank to work, I don't think that justifies 30 grand in cash."

"I … I, uh," Alcott stammered, brushing a hand through her hair as she looked to the side. "This job. It's getting to me. It's a lot harder than my old job. I worried if I had bitten off more than I could chew. The stress started getting to me."

"Stress?"

"Yeah. Well, most mornings I eat at the O'Rourke Diner. They have these slot machines there. I figured it would be fun, while I was waiting for my breakfast. You know. Let off a little steam, maybe release some stress," she said with an embarrassed blush. "It is addictive."

"A gambling problem in Las Vegas. Imagine that."

Alcott snapped her head up at his sarcastic tone. "Wait here," she said.

Brass watched as she moved back into the house and to a hall table. His hand shifted to his holster until she came back with a strip of paper she retrieved from a purse.

"I understand you have to ask me questions. I'm trying to be helpful, but I have to say I'm getting tired of the treatment you're giving me. Here," she said shoving the business card into his hand. "Talk to them."

After Alcott closed the door in his face, Brass turned the card over, letting out a long sigh as he did. It held the address and times for local meetings of Gamblers Anonymous.

* * *

Sara knocked softly, giving Grissom a quick smirk when he waved her in. "You paged?"

"Yeah. Come on in and have a seat," he said, setting down the folder he'd been reading and folding his hands on top of it. After taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. "I heard O'Riley got a confession from Belcher. Good work."

"Thanks."

"The mayor will be pleased that you solved this."

"Good. That'll take some pressure off the lab. Uh, is there something you wanted to ask me?" Sara asked with a inquisitive stare. Grissom seemed uncomfortable.

"Yeah. About Friday night."

"This Friday?" she asked in confusion.

"No. Last Friday. You were off. You didn't come in at all?"

She shook her head slowly. "End of the month. No overtime left."

"Right. Right," Grissom said as he began tapping a pen on his desk. "What did you do?"

"Not much, I guess. Why?"

"Humor me."

"You want to know if I have an alibi," she surmised, cocking her head to stare at him. "You finished with the bugs. Not that you can actually tell me that."

"So, about Friday?" he asked softly. She was right, not surprisingly. His analysis showed that Peddigrew would have been killed sometime late Friday night or early Saturday morning. And as a potential suspect, he couldn't talk to her about the investigation.

"Let's see. What did I do?" Sara pondered aloud as she leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. "After I got off work that morning, I ate some breakfast. Then I had, uh, an appointment."

"Appointment?"

"Yeah, that was Friday morning, though."

"Okay, what else?" Grissom asked, wondering why she seemed hesitant to talk about the mystery meeting.

"I went home. Slept. Got up. Watched some TV. Took a shower, cleaned up the apartment. I went out for dinner. Grabbed some pizza, then I went to a movie. Would have gotten back home around midnight. Maybe a little later."

"All that by midnight?"

"I, uh, didn't sleep well, I guess. Have trouble with that sometimes. After the movie, I read. Was on the Internet for a while. Nothing much that I can verify, though. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"That is so easy for you to say," she quipped. "Thought we covered that already."

Grissom returned the smile half-heartedly. "It's not easy," he admitted, looking up and out into the hallway. Sara turned her head to catch Vartan headed their way.

"I got your page. What's up?"

"I have something for you," Grissom said, looking towards Sara. She nodded, pressing against the chair arms to stand, but Vartan gave her a quizzical look, causing her to pause.

"Where's Brass?" he asked Grissom.

"On an interview."

"Damn."

"You know, Brass only said not to _ask_ me any questions," Sara reminded him with a grin. "You can _talk_ to me."

"Right," the detective said slowly. "So, I heard you kept Peddigrew's underwear."

"And his watch, and other stuff. In a box. In my closet. If he ever wanted them back, he could come get them."

"Ooo-kay. That's weird, but this is Vegas. I checked the log at the firing range. You go there."

"Part of the job is being able to handle a weapon," Grissom pointed out, causing both of them to stare at him.

"Sara was there more than anyone else on the team. You're a good shot, from what I hear. You can hit a target dead center easily. A man-shaped target."

"I practice so I won't kill someone."

"That needs some explanation," Vartan sighed.

"I will not kill someone," Sara stated simply. "It's not who I am. If I have to shoot someone, I want to be able to disable them, rather than kill them."

"That isn't department protocol."

"Nope, it's not."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Sorry, that's a question. I can't answer it until Brass gets here," she chuckled.

"Get out of here," Vartan said, a hint of a smile forming.

"Sara," Grissom called out as he retrieved his linear regression reports. When she turned around, he fixed her with a level gaze. "You are off tonight, right?"

"Right," she said with a nod. "I'll see you later."

"Uh, huh," he replied, watching as she walked towards the locker room. Somehow, he doubted she'd be using the time to rest. Even as he explained the evidence to Vartan, Grissom's mind pondered what to do about Sara.

Frankly, he was worried. Things had been going badly for her for too long; Peddigrew's murder and its implications on her had to be painful. Perhaps, it was time for him to be more … direct.

_TBC_


	12. Ch 12

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Marlou for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Catherine yawned deeply, letting out an exasperated sigh when she was done. Standing exhausted in front of her locker was nothing new, but it usually occurred at the end of shift – not the beginning.

So far, she'd been unable to find any evidence supporting Sara's claim that she hadn't talked to Hank in the months before his murder. Given that the phone records existed, it didn't look good for her colleague.

Catherine had spent the previous double-shift sorting through Peddigrew's credit card statements. Twice, she'd found receipts with timestamps that were suspiciously close to when calls were placed to Sara's apartment. Both turned out to be from stores in his immediate neighborhood, meaning it was still feasible that he'd phoned.

Still, there were Hank's bank statements and Sara's work and court schedule to examine, not to mention her cryptic appointment book. With an audible groan, Catherine headed towards the break room for a dose of caffeine. This was going to be another long night.

She briefly considered the possibility that Hank and Sara had resumed contact, but shook her head. It didn't make any sense. Peddigrew might have been willing to restart the relationship, but she doubted that Sara would have even considered it. He had hurt her too deeply.

Catherine frowned, realizing that Grissom had also hurt Sara – on multiple occasions – but she was still around.

_No. That was different. _

_Wasn't it? _

_Who the hell knows? I'm too tired to even try to figure out what's going on between those two. _

Hearing a shuffling sound, she caught sight of Grissom exiting the storeroom, balancing one cardboard box while rifling through another. Giving her head a shake, she walked towards her friend, wondering if she wanted to know what had his attention. With Grissom, it was always a risky proposition, but she called out any way.

"What's up?"

"Experiment," he said, continuing his search as he headed towards his office.

"Have fun," she drawled out, retreating to the relative safety of the break room. Considering the usual outcomes of Grissom's experiments, Catherine was certain now that she didn't want to know what he had collected.

As she drew closer, Catherine detected an unusual aroma and picked up her pace. A grin formed when she spotted a nervously fidgeting Greg by the coffee maker. He was darting anxious looks to Sara, who sat at the table, sipping a soda and reading a forensics journal.

"Peace offering," the blonde surmised, making her way to the high-quality, and high-priced, brew sputtering from the coffee maker.

"Oh, yeah," Greg nodded. "After my verbal faux pas yesterday, I figured I needed to do something so she wouldn't be angry with me."

"Smart move. You're lucky she didn't kick your ass after what you said."

"Hey, guys," Sara said dryly. "'She' is in the room. If you're going to talk about me in front of my back, at least make it interesting."

"Okay. Did you see the pics of Sara that Hodges took with the camera he hid in the showers?"

Sara lowered her magazine slowly, fixing a lethal glare at Greg, while Catherine winced sympathetically for him.

"Just kidding! Hodges may be insane, but he's not _that_ insane. He knows that Sara would shoot him … uh. Sorry."

"Greg, unless you buy that stuff by the ton, I'd be thinking of a better peace offering about now," Catherine said with a chuckle.

She looked up curiously when Grissom made his way into the break room, his pair of boxes now joined by a small cooler. Catherine watched in amusement as Sara tried to hide behind her journal, sliding low in her seat.

Grissom didn't react, but set his containers on the counter and began searching through the cupboards. After stuffing a handful of napkins and coffee stirrers in one box, he rooted through the other, pulling out a pair of sterile containers. He filled one with creamer and the other with sugar before placing them in the cooler. Grissom then turned to stare at Greg.

"Is that good coffee?"

"Most definitely."

"I need it," Grissom said, confiscating the pot.

"But it's for a special occasion," Greg protested as his supervisor produced a thermos from one of his boxes.

"What kind of special occasion? Besides, I need it for my experiment."

"But…"

"Greg, you do want to help, don't you?" Grissom asked as he capped the thermos. "You wouldn't get in the way of a scientific endeavor."

"No," the lab tech said sadly. Well, it wasn't like his offering was going to repair his second bout of foot-in-mouth disease, but it was the last of his Special Kona Roast. Thoughts of what Grissom would use it for made Greg shudder.

Throughout the exchange, Sara remained silent, hoping to escape Grissom's notice. He wasn't supposed to be here tonight. If she'd known he was going to show up, she'd have slipped into an empty office to finish up her paperwork.

When Grissom gathered up his cargo and headed for the door, she started to relax. Unfortunately, he stopped directly in front of her.

"You finish up the bomb case?"

"Yeah. Report's on your desk," she said, peeking over the top of her reading.

"You're with me then. Meet me in the parking lot in 10 minutes."

"Right," she sighed, watching as he turned around, taking some comfort in the fact he didn't appear angry.

"Hey, Grissom," the tech called out suddenly.

"You can't come, Greg. I know you have a set of samples waiting for you to finish. When you get caught up, you can help Nick and Warrick."

"What? Oh, no. I mean, thanks, but that's not what I wanted. Uh, if you're taking my coffee for an experiment, official lab use, then I can be reimbursed, right?"

After cocking his head in thought for a moment, he gave a nod before disappearing in the hallway. "Send me a memo."

Greg's triumphant smile faded as Catherine passed him, patting his arm sadly. "Grissom doesn't read memos."

* * *

Brass and Vartan exchanged brief greetings, sitting down together at the table to go over their notes.

"Okay," the captain started, "we know Peddigrew was murdered between late Friday night and early Saturday morning. The gun had to be taken from the vault before then."

"But the last logged entry for that evidence was nine years ago," Vartan said, sorting through some papers. "No saying how long ago the killer took it."

"Right. Let's go with when it was put back. It had to be returned after the murder, but before the body was found."

"Five clerks covered those shifts," Vartan said after consulting another document. "Chuck Saunders was one of them. His prints were also one of the four sets lifted from the evidence box."

"Yeah, but those guys move the boxes around on occasion. He's worked here, what, 16 years? His prints are probably on most of the boxes in the vault."

"I know, but we don't have a lot to work with. Two prints from the box came from the CSIs that originally handled the case. Both of them retired years ago. The other two sets came from clerks. Chuck Saunders and Mike Austin."

"Well, I'm ruling Austin out," Brass said firmly.

"Why?"

"Because he died five years ago. I don't do ouija boards."

"Okay," Vartan laughed. "Our suspects are the five clerks in the evidence vault. Plus any CSI, from any shift. They all go into the evidence vault."

"That's what I like about you," Brass deadpanned as he settled down for the night's work. "You always see the silver lining."

* * *

Sara found Grissom stowing his mystery supplies in the back of a Denali. She approached cautiously, wondering if he was upset. Technically, she hadn't lied to him; it was her night off. It might have been implied, but she never actually said she would stay at home. 

Nightmares had ruined the little sleep she attempted since finding Hank's body. While she was physically run down, Sara preferred to be at work, even if it was only to get ahead of her paperwork.

It was better than sitting at home. Alone.

Sara didn't try to explain that to Grissom. She doubted he'd understand; being alone never seemed to bother him. She didn't know how he stood it.

Pairing up with Grissom had never been in her plans, though. His recent behavior was starting to seriously weird her out. Sara forced a smile, giving a half-wave as she walked up. "Hey."

Grissom responded with a brief head bob as he closed the back of the SUV. "Hop in."

Sara quickly got in the passenger's seat, relieved that he didn't seem upset. Grissom had been acting especially kind since his initial blowup at the murder scene days ago. It was a nice, if unexpected, change, but it was unnerving as well.

They'd finally aired some of their issues, but things were still unsettled. She couldn't figure out what was motivating him. Was he trying to deal with a guilty conscience over how he'd treated her? Or was he a supervisor worried that she was going to start drinking again? It was all too confusing.

When Grissom turned to stare at her, Sara realized she hadn't said anything in miles. She sat up straighter and returned his look.

"So, were are we heading?"

"The desert."

"Well, that clears that up," Sara said with a levity she didn't feel. No reason to let him know she was upset over Hank's murder. He'd freaked out enough when he learned they were dating. God only knows how Grissom would react if he found out she was bothered by his death.

_Hell, I can't even figure out how I feel. I didn't like Hank, but I didn't want him dead. I don't wish anyone dead. But I deal with dead people all the time; I can detach from those. Usually. But I never knew any of those people. I never was involved with any of them. _

_Who would want to kill Hank? Seems like Alcott forgave him. I hope he wasn't dumb enough to cheat on her again. Yeah, but what about those phone calls - was he the one calling me? Why? He couldn't be stupid enough to think I'd go back to him. _

_Damn – was he in trouble? Did he need help? I wouldn't talk to him at the scene. What if he was in trouble then … No. He wasn't the smartest guy around, but even Hank could figure out how to call 911 – the number was on his t-shirts. _

Giving herself a mental shake, she looked over at Grissom; he merely stared at her again.

Suspecting that he might actually be angry, Sara opted to remain silent, settling back in her seat as they drove out of the city.

"You were supposed to be off tonight," he eventually pointed out.

_Busted. _

"So were you," she shrugged.

"I had a feeling you would come in."

Sara dropped her head, staring at her hands folded in her lap. There was no missing the disappointment in his voice. Oddly, she found that to be very distressing. Part of that was from hurting him, even if it had been unintentional. She never suspected that Grissom would check up on her.

And that fed the other part of her unease. It would be easy to confuse his concern with real … caring. She wanted – probably too much – to believe that Grissom was finally letting her get close, but Sara didn't want to risk that. She'd been burned too many times. Besides, she had too many other issues to deal with now; getting shot down by him again wouldn't exactly be helpful.

_Keep cool. Remember you're trying to regain his professional trust. Don't blow up. Just reassure him. He'll move on to something else soon enough. He always does. _

"You don't have to worry about me drinking again. That was a one-time mistake."

"That's good to know, but that's not why I'm concerned."

"I don't need a babysitter, Grissom," she stated quickly, feeling remorse when she saw his hurt expression. "I appreciate that you're doing … whatever it is you're doing. But I'm okay."

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

_Huh? Damn. He's not dropping this. Don't get your hopes up. He's being a good supervisor. Or trying to start up our friendship. Don't read more into it than is really there. Don't get burned again. _

"Sure," she said, hoping her response sounded convincing.

Grissom didn't reply verbally, but she could feel his gaze on her from time to time as he drove down a county road into the hills.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Sara's natural curiosity asserted itself. Where we they going? What kind of experiment had them out in the middle of the desert? Turning around in the seat, she eyed the boxes suspiciously. They didn't look big enough, but…

"You don't have another dead pig back there, do you?" Sara asked hesitantly. "'Cause I'll walk back to the lab if there is."

"No." Her mock-threat drew a half-smile from Grissom, but she didn't find it reassuring.

"So, what kind of experiment are we doing?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Great," she sighed. Maybe this was Grissom's way of convincing her that she should have stayed at home.

* * *

"You screwed it up," Nick decided. 

"No, I didn't," Warrick replied, but still double-checking the three plastic straws sticking out of the dummy. They exactly matched the placement and angle of the shots that killed Peddigrew.

"Those entry angles don't make any sense. Look at them."

"I know." Bullets from a straight-on shooting normally entered a body near horizontal. Even taking into account Hank's height, the wounds made no sense. The barrel of the gun would have to be pointed up at a steep angle.

"You sure he was shot from the front?" Nick asked.

"I got a hundred bucks that says you won't ask Doc if he knows the difference between an entry and an exit wound. These are right."

Nick shook his head, taking a laser pointer and trying to position the beam of light to align with the straws. Finally, he had to squat low to the floor to line it up properly. "No way someone shot him from that position."

"It is weird," Warrick agreed. "Struggle?"

"Nah," Nick said, straightening up and twisting the pointer as he stepped against the body. "No burn marks on the body. Gun wasn't that close to him."

"Damn."

"Maybe the shooter was already in the ravine."

"No," Warrick answered. "Body didn't show any signs of a fall. Besides it was too deep. The angles still wouldn't line up."

"Well, whoever shot Hank had to be below him," Nick said.

"Yeah, but how? The body didn't fall any distance."

"I don't get it."

Warrick sighed, scratching his jaw as he studied the dummy. He nudged Nick in the ribs, giving him a knowing wink when Catherine and Greg entered the garage. "You two all done?"

"Taking a break," Catherine said. "How about you guys?"

"Well, we were just discussing that this would be a good quiz for Greggo," Nick said playfully.

"Are those angles right?" she asked, walking up to inspect the dummy closer.

"Yep."

"So tell us, Greg. How was Hank shot?"

The lab tech watched the silent communication between the two other men. He'd seen enough of their bets to know that something was up. He examined the dummy carefully, looking for clues. Catherine's comment about the angles gave him a hint.

"Was the gun held close to the body?" Greg asked, shivering when he realized that he knew the body in question – and actively disliked its owner – when it was still alive. He had the grace to not mention that the dummy was a good substitute for the two-timing paramedic.

"Nope," Warrick answered in a slightly patronizing tone. "Good question, though."

"Hmmm. Let's check this out."

The trio of senior CSIs watched as Greg picked the dummy up and carried it across the garage. After sharing amused shrugs, they followed him.

"For you, my dear," he said, tossing the laser pointer to Catherine. "Since you were the one to find the blood in his truck's gate hinges."

Hopping up into the truck bed, he held the dummy up, smiling when he and Catherine found a position that matched the bullet's trajectory perfectly.

"Hold on, Greg. Move to your left some. More. Step back. Whoa," Catherine said, looking around his body to the truck cab. "Okay, duck."

"A l'orange? One of my favorites. You treating?"

"Get down, Greg. Now."

"Right."

"Well, well. Look at that," Catherine said, prompting Greg to lift his head cautiously above the truck bed.

"What?"

"That angle matches up with the ricochet mark on the back of the cab."

"But that doesn't mean anything, does it? A rock could have done that. I mean you can't show that a bullet caused a ding. Can you?"

"No," she conceded. "But we know how the killer moved Hank's body. Shot him in his own truck bed."

"Doesn't explain how they got it into that ravine, though," Warrick said.

"Well, that's your job, guys. We did this part for you," Greg said with a happy grin, joining Catherine as they returned to their own assignments.

"Yeah. Good job, Greg," Warrick said as they left.

"Yeah, good work," Nick added. Both men looked at the dummy, still in the truck bed, and exchanged a quick, embarrassed look. "Beginner's luck?"

"Oh, definitely."

"We would have remembered the blood."

"Yeah," Warrick said emphatically.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"Deal."

* * *

Sara glanced at Grissom questioningly when he parked on an isolated hilltop, well away from the lights of the city. "This'll do," he announced, shaking his head in approval.

Before she could ask for an explanation, he was moving to the back of the Denali. Following him, Sara stepped back in surprise when he held out the thermos, a pair of cups and the cooler. "Take these," he said, grabbing the cardboard boxes and going to the front of the SUV.

"Get on the other side," he directed, setting down his load, and fishing out a plaid blanket. He tossed it over the hood, smoothing out the wrinkles before looking up to Sara. Crooking a finger and pointing, he indicated she was to climb up.

Rolling her eyes, Sara set her packages on the hood and quickly scrambled up, waiting for her next instruction. Grissom ignored her glare, setting one of his boxes by her feet before climbing up the other side of the hood.

"You have the coffee?" he asked, leaning back against the windshield.

"Do I what?"

"The coffee. I'm thirsty."

"Of course you are," she muttered, grumbling as she poured their drinks. After handing him his cup, she waited for him to explain what they were doing. When an answer wasn't forthcoming, she finally looked angrily at him. "What's going on?"

"An experiment," he said innocently.

Sara raised an eyebrow in challenge. Thoughts of maintaining a professional image were being replaced with the desire to test his reflexes by dumping the coffee on a sensitive area of his. Whatever his game was, she wasn't enjoying it. "Really?"

"Yes. Lean back," he said, patting the windshield beside him. "I have another blanket down there. Do you want it for a pillow? Come on."

"What are we looking for?" she sighed petulantly.

"Meteors. No, really," Grissom added when she turned her head to stare at him in shock. "The Orionids shower hasn't reached its peak, but we should be able to spot a few. It's not as impressive as the Perseids."

"What does this have to do with work?"

"Absolutely nothing at all. That's the point."

"Is it okay to admit I'm lost?" she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Grissom's lips twitched as he watched her from the corner of his eye. "We both tend to bury our troubles in work. This is a way to find another outlet."

"But we're supposed to be at work."

"Catherine kept telling me there was a upside to all the paperwork I have to do. I can change our timesheets," Grissom said, smiling as he leaned towards her.

"You are very confusing," she replied, staring straight ahead.

Grissom resisted the urge to sigh. This wasn't going well. He was getting very worried about Sara; he just wanted her to do something relaxing. As far as he knew, she still didn't have any outlets other than work. With their job, that was never a good thing, even under normal circumstances.

He knew Peddigrew's murder and being a potential suspect had to be rough on Sara. She might not be showing the pain, but he knew it was there. And Grissom worried what it was doing to her.

Taking a long sip of his coffee, Grissom closed his eyes. Sara's drinking incident had forced him to admit that she was human. She could be hurt, enough to make her turn to alcohol for solace. And he had been the source of some of that pain.

Things between them had improved since then, but they still weren't as close as they used to be. This exercise was proving that. He only wanted to help, but if anything, he'd managed to make her angry with him.

Okay, maybe telling Sara they were going to spend time away from work would have worked better than dragging her out into the desert without any say. Maybe this wasn't the way she wanted to spend a night off.

"I brought some food, or there's a truck stop a few miles away that actually makes decent salads. I have a radio if you want some music. We can stay here, or go to a movie, go back to my place and play chess. Anything, but go back to the office," he said kindly.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

Grissom licked his lips nervously. This was an uncomfortable subject for him. Of course, it probably was harder on Sara right now.

"You're probably very upset over Ped … over Hank's murder. I can imagine this is painful for you. I know you … cared for him."

"I am not having this conversation with you!" Sara said, sitting up quickly once she got over her initial surprise. _No way. Not now. Not with him. What has gotten into him?_

Grissom reached out, grabbing her elbow before she slid off of the Denali's hood. "Wait. Don't be angry. I … I don't know what to do."

"About what?" she asked, tentatively looking over her shoulder at him. Even in the dim evening light, she could tell he was watching her intently. His fingers were gently massaging her arm, imploring her to relax. Sara pushed herself back on the hood, shocked when she noticed she'd been holding her breath.

_Don't get your hopes up. Don't. _

"Everything is a mess between us. I don't know how to fix things," Grissom said with a sigh. "You don't have to go through this alone. I'm just trying to be your friend."

"That's the problem. We haven't been friends in a long time," Sara said unhappily, leaning back against the windshield and closing her eyes. "I miss it," she added softly.

"So do I," Grissom admitted. He took another sip from his coffee, trying to gauge Sara's mood. He didn't want to upset her, but clearly his attempt to get her to relax had failed. She'd been dealing with something since the drinking incident. While giving her space, he'd kept an eye on her, slowly working on their friendship. Had he waited too long? He hadn't wanted to rush things.

"I am sorry I ever asked you out," Sara said, shattering his musings. She stared into the desert, unaware of his pained expression. "After the lab explosion? Things were bad before that, but I think that's when things really went downhill. For me, at least."

Grissom blinked rapidly, trying to process the conflicting emotions within him. Did she regret being interested or just the outcome? And how far flung were the consequences of his brusque rejection?

"You mean … was that why you were …," he asked, struggling to find the words.

"No! God, no, Grissom. You didn't make me a drunk. That's a whole other story. Don't even think of blaming yourself for that," she said, turning her head to face him. "I was talking professionally."

"I … the promotion? No, Sara, I told you. That wasn't about us."

"I put you in a bad situation, Grissom. I didn't realize it at the time. How hard it must have been for you. The conflict of interest, dating a subordinate, the hassles. I thought we could work around it, but I guess not. I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'm sorry. I wish I never opened my mouth."

He didn't reply, but leaned back against the windshield. Everything Sara said mimicked what he'd told himself over and over again. But hearing it from her made the reasons sound so flat.

"It's okay," he finally replied. "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't always handle personal matters well."

That statement drew a short guffaw from Sara, who quickly tried to cover it by taking a drink from her cup. Grissom frowned, wondering if she even realized that he was trying to head their relationship that way.

Resting his head against the glass, he considered his options. It wasn't in his nature to be vocal about his emotional state. Hell, he was butchering this attempt at a fun outing. Who knew what the result would be if he tried to explain the way she made him feel. He didn't have the words to explain what she did do him. Words couldn't convey the depth of his feelings, the hopes she inspired, the fears of eventually losing her.

Catherine's earlier advice came back to him – be direct. Tell her you care. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

"I love you."

When she choked on her coffee, Grissom realized he'd probably been too blunt. Maybe he should have taken Catherine's other advice and practiced in front of a mirror. The 'love' was a last-second ad lib; 'like' seemed too mild a verb. He began to panic when she didn't reply.

Sara coughed again, barely feeling the burning liquid as it went down wrong. Her breath was coming in short gasps and her heart raced as his simple declaration played through her mind repeatedly.

For such a short sentence, she was having a hard time comprehending it.

What did he mean? This was Grissom – a man who actively worked to avoid any expression of emotion. The same man that never told her how he felt, but had no trouble telling a cold-blooded killer. The man who treated her like she had betrayed him when she dated Hank.

_Was that what this was about? Was he still jealous? Dammit. Leave it to him to be jealous of a corpse. What else could it be? I must have misheard him. I had to. Why now? After all these years? _

After a moment's hesitation, Grissom turned towards Sara, catching her as she wiped a hand across her eyes. Sliding closer, he set his mug down and drew her face towards him. The doubt and confusion were clear. He needed to convince her, let her know he wasn't going to back away.

"I do," he stated. "Even if you're not ready for something like that, I want you to know I'm here for you. I'll wait, Sara, for as long as it takes for you to trust me again."

She didn't answer, but closed her eyes, shaking her head as she came to terms with what he said. _Is this another nightmare? I'm exhausted enough to fall asleep in the SUV. We're going to share a kiss, only I'll wake up in an empty bed again. I can't believe … he's serious. I think he is. _

_God, I want to believe him. I want to so much, but he's hurt me before. I couldn't deal with that again, not now. But what if this is it? Will he really wait? It's not like he has a lot of confidence. I got that from his talk with Lurie. He really thinks I'll leave him. _

_I don't know what to do. _

Grissom watched, grateful that she hadn't rejected him, or laughed at him. When he noticed she was trying to hold back the tears, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, gently easing her head to his shoulder. Initially, she resisted, but he gradually coaxed her, running his hand soothingly down her neck.

Pulling her closer, he leaned back against the window. He held her, ignoring the windshield wiper pressing painfully into his back, gently stroking her hair as she buried her head into his neck. Sara was quiet, but he could feel her tears against his skin.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head. Grissom took the opportunity to move to a more comfortable position, keeping his arm draped lightly around her. He smiled when she stayed by his side, leaning against his shoulder.

Settling back, he pointed out a shooting star. Wiping a residual tear away, she turned in the direction he indicated. Grissom hoped she'd say something, anything, to confirm that his advances were welcomed, but settled for the physical closeness. They didn't talk. No promises were made, no concerns discussed. They just sat silently, cocooned together, watching the celestial event unfold.

It was a start.

_TBC_


	13. Ch 13

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked for her beta skills! All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

After returning to the lab, Grissom bid Sara a shy goodbye, resisting the urge to hug her in public. He wasn't even certain the gesture would be welcomed. So far, the only discernable reaction he'd gotten from her was stunned disbelief. It wasn't exactly the response he'd been hoping for.

Entering the building, Grissom settled for resting his hand briefly on her back as he moved towards his office. As he scratched his beard, he wondered if he should go back and ask her to join him for breakfast.

_I don't know. Should I give her some time? She has a lot on her mind already. Maybe now wasn't the best time to tell her how I feel. I never expected her to be giddy, but I don't think she was even happy to hear it._

_Let's face it; Sara has plenty of reasons to doubt I was sincere. I've left her hanging before. So maybe I should ask. Let her know that I am serious. Or would that be pushing? I just don't know._

_I hope I didn't screw this up. I'm not sure it went well._

An hour after his declaration of love in the desert, Sara had dozed off. He hoped it meant she was comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. He feared it meant that she was bored out of her mind. Finally, Grissom concluded Sara was simply exhausted and tried not to read more into it.

Deciding to make the most of the situation, Grissom had watched her unabashedly. Sleep had robbed her of all concerns, leaving her with a peaceful expression. Highlighted by the pale starlight, she was more beautiful than he ever imagined.

It was a sight he was certain he'd never tire of, and he prayed he'd have the chance to test his hypothesis.

Eventually, his growling stomach ruined the mood, and Sara woke with a start. She'd given him an embarrassed look, pulling away as she started to apologize. Grissom had cut her off, insisting it was all right.

An uncomfortable silence had followed, with neither being sure what to say. Grissom broke the tension by suggesting they head to the truck stop for lunch. Packing up the Denali, they shared nervous smiles, both jumping when they accidentally brushed against each other.

Lunch had been a relatively silent affair until the overhead TV began covering the East Coast hurricanes. Sara was the first to speak, empathizing with the victims. That led to a discussion of earthquakes they'd lived through, and over slices of pie, they talked leisurely about the first blizzard each had seen after leaving California.

Nothing about the conversation was noteworthy; it wasn't full of any personal revelations. It was no more than a lunchtime talk between friends. That was something, Grissom decided. The time together had been comfortable, the discussion unforced. It was an ease that had been missing from their relationship for a long time.

Still, Sara had never responded to his admission of love. Forcing himself to look on the bright side, Grissom noted that she hadn't rejected him outright. He had popped that on her suddenly; it was only fair to give her time to react.

Besides, his hair was already gray. The stress of waiting for her answer wasn't going to make a noticeable difference.

Walking to his desk, Grissom stared incredulously at the stack of paperwork that managed to metastasize while they gone. He was in the midst of finding a drawer to shove the papers in when Brass sauntered into the room wearing a curious expression.

Ah, the prodigal bug man returneth.What's up, Jim?Why do I have the feeling I should be asking you that? the police captain asked lightly.

I'm on my way out. If you have something to say Grissom said brusquely. His private life was off-limits in the office gossip pool even in the best of circumstances, and he was still uncertain how to classify his latest venture.

Brass gave him a half-shrug before answering. I had an interesting phone call earlier from Highway Patrol. Seems a trooper was on his way to a call late Friday night when he spotted an abandoned car on a back road outside of Henderson. By the time he returned in the morning, the car was gone. The tags belong to Alcott.

Grissom's head shot up suddenly. The timing matched when Peddigrew's murder occurred.

_Dammit! The one time I decide to leave the office. I should have been here; I should have been doing my job. Sara's future is at stake._

You should have called me.Catherine said not to bother you. Said that you were busy doing an experiment. With Sara, Brass said with an amused expression. Which is interesting, because Sara can't be working this case. And Ecklie has his crew covering your other cases. This wasn't one of those _experiments_ where the results show up months later, was it?Where was the car? Grissom demanded as he picked up his kit.

_Do people really think that Sara and I were ... Where did they get that idea? What are they going to think if – when – we do get together? _ _I knew it was a risk that people would find out, but I figured I'd know it before the lab did._

Brass said with a wave of his hand. Nick and Warrick are already there. I do remember how to do this job. Alcott is coming in for some questions in a few minutes. Thought you might want to know.I'll meet you there.

Grissom made his way through the halls, hoping to find Sara. This latest development settled the issue of breakfast, but it could be a break in the case. Not that he could tell her that, but maybe he could hint that things were looking up. Finding her in the break room rinsing out the thermos, he quickly moved to her side.

Hey. Sorry, he said, wincing when his unexpected arrival startled her.

It's okay, she said with a nervous smile, grabbing a paper towel to wipe up the water she splashed on the counter.

Grissom didn't respond immediately, but examined Sara closely. In the harsh light of the lab, her fatigue was more evident, in spite of the nap she had taken earlier. There was also a sense of unease around her.

That made him nervous, on multiple levels. Something had been haunting her for some time; she'd yet to talk to him about it. He didn't know if it meant it was something that she considered too minor to bother him with, or too major to trust him with. The added stress of the murder, and the questions about her possible involvement had to be complicating her life.

It also bothered him, personally, because she was on edge around him. That led Grissom to doubt Sara completely believed him when he told her of his love. He didn't know how to make her believe him.

I'm was on my way home. You don't have to check up on me, she said, adding a smile to cover the snap in her tone.

I wasn't. I will worry about you, though. I can't help it, Grissom said kindly.

I'm fine. Really. Just tired. I haven't slept well lately.Try to get some when you get home, he urged.

That's the plan.Good. Look, I've got to run. Work, he said, giving her a broad smile. Could be something big.

Sara cocked her head, staring at him incomprehensively for a moment before her eyes widened. Oh. Good luck.Thanks. I, uh, I, he started, suddenly feeling nervous. _Sara looks like she wants to be alone. Or just away from me? Give her space or press? When in doubt, compromise. Put the ball in her court. _ I want you to know you can call me later. If you want to talk. Or something.Ahh, thanks, she replied, equally bashful. When he was partway to the door, she called out his name.

Grissom turned around hopefully, trying to read her expression. _She's not angry. That's a good sign. Don't get cocky; she's not exactly laughing, either. She's confused? Why not? I am, and I started this._

Sara repeated, wrapping her arms around herself. For tonight.You're welcome.

The corners of his lips turned upwards as he exited the room, prompting a passing Catherine to give him a knowing wink. Walking away, he looked over his shoulder in bewilderment. _Why did people think that he and Sara had ?_

Chuckling, Catherine stepped into the break room, grabbing a cup of coffee and walking to Sara. Sitting down, she watched her colleague with open amusement.

So, you two have fun?Uh, it was different, Sara answered vaguely.

Different can be good. Very good. It can be kinky, too, she said, smiling when Sara glared at her. Probably not Grissom. Or you. So, I take it things between you two are better.

Catherine toyed with the spoon, pointing in the direction Grissom had left. I think he's really sorry about the way he behaved at the scene that first night.He apologized for that. We're cool.That's good. You know, Grissom is also very forgiving. As long as you're upfront with him. But he's not an easy guy to get to trust you, personally. And he's been burned in the past. As long as he knows you're being upfront with him, he'll forgive a lot.Is there a point in here somewhere, Cath? Sara asked suspiciously.

The blonde let out an explosive breath, smacking her hands against the table in frustration. Okay. I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Did you maybe talk to Hank and then forget about it? Cause I haven't been able to find anything that backs your story. And the phone calls were made from his house to your apartment.

Sara leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. The existence of the phone calls was bothering her as well. She still hadn't been able to explain it, let alone prove that she hadn't talked to Hank. No wonder it was frustrating to the team.

It was more than an irritating unsolved puzzle; it was her future. Since she hadn't killed him, there could be no evidence linking her to Hank's murder. But Sara freely admitted the mounting circumstantial evidence was damning. And a CSI needed an unimpeachable reputation. Until this case was solved, questions would remain about her possible involvement. That could end her career.

Worse, the longer it took, the less likely they were of solving the case. Unknown to the general public, most murders are never solved. The ones that do get closed are usually because the killer did something idiotic, like brag about it, or kill someone in front of witnesses.

She was already having a hard time coming to terms with Hank's murder. The uncertainty of her future wasn't helping.

Then there was Grissom.

His simple statement of love caused her more confusion than everything else combined. Sara wanted to believe him. Resting in his arms that night had been the most comfortable she'd felt in a very long time. It would be so easy to bury herself in his arms, to take solace in his support.

But what about the future? If she remained a suspect, their involvement could reflect poorly on him. Sara didn't know if he'd be willing to face that. Sara knew she couldn't ask Grissom to go through that.

If they could only solve this case.

Sara let out a long sigh, shaking her head slowly. Cath, trust me. If I talked to Hank, I would have remembered it. I didn't. I don't know how to explain the calls. the older woman said with an eye roll. Guess I can't get out of going through the rest of the paper trails.I'd offer to help, but Sara said with a wicked grin.

Yeah, yeah.

Taking her coffee, Catherine gave Sara a parting grin. So, when are we going to hear the details of this experiment?

* * *

Warrick wiped the sweat from his face, frowning as he stretched slowly. The trooper had only been able to give them a general idea of where the car had been parked, and it had taken time to process the entire area. He'd been up and down his side of the road, finding only litter.

he called out to his partner.

Wasn't like we were expecting much, Nick responded, continuing his sweep with a metal detector.

After several days in the desert sun and wind, any biological or trace evidence would probably be ruined, and physical evidence could have been disturbed or destroyed by wildlife.

Only one bullet had been recovered from Hank's body. That meant two were still out here. Somewhere. Since they couldn't pinpoint where the shooting took place, they couldn't calculate the probable area the bullets would land.

Even if they had the range, there were other problems. Bullets began to deform the instant a gun was fired. They were designed to fragment easily, maximizing the damage they inflicted. The exiting metal would bear little resemblance to the original bullet. Those pieces could have hit a rock, disintegrating totally. They could have struck a cactus or tree, disappearing from sight.

The odds of actually finding the small pieces of metal in the vast Nevada desert were slim at best. But both men knew it was important. Not only would it aid in solving their case, it would help their friend.

I hear you, Warrick replied. And this killer was good. Too good. Do you think Alcott would know how to pull this off?Hey, now. Don't get all wiggy on me, Nick teased.

Chill, man. I know Sara didn't do this. We'd never find the body if she did.You know, everyone says that. I don't buy it. We're pretty good, too. We'd give her a run for her money.You gonna volunteer to be the test subject?

The clicking of the metal detector interrupted Nick's laughter. What do you think? Bottle cap?How many other ones have you found? Warrick asked rhetorically as he crossed the road to join his partner.

Enough to start another collection.You need a life, Nicky.Whoa. Looky here. Oh, come on, he pleaded, quickly taking several photos. Pulling a pair of forceps from his pocket, Nick eased the shell casing from underneath the loose dirt. And add another solve to the Stokes' file.Hey, if it clears Sara, I don't care who gets the credit, Warrick replied honestly, grinning as he approached.

Spoken like a gracious loser.

Warrick playfully slapped his head, then frowned as they examined the casing closely. Nick swore, kicking the dirt as he walked away in an angry huff.

Warrick sighed.

* * *

Brass and Grissom both raised their eyebrows when Elaine Alcott entered the interrogation room accompanied by an attorney. Both men recognized him – Leonard Lenny the Lizard Lockhart. He was a high-priced, flashy, ethically-challenged but very effective defense lawyer.

Why are you harassing my client? he demanded immediately after introductions were made.

It's an investigation, not harassment, Brass said calmly. He knew from past experience that Lockhart tried to put the police on the defensive. Your client was the last person to see the victim alive. It's natural that we want to question her.My client willingly came to your station, numerous times. Your criminalists have insulted her. You've been to her place of employment, asking leading questions. Same with her friends and family. You bothered her at the home of the deceased's parents, while she was trying to console them. She openly admitted to an embarrassing addiction, Lockhart rattled off smoothly.

It's all part of the drill.And destroying her home?The bathroom tiles had recently been replaced. They were the approximate height of the bullet wounds on the victim. The room smelled strongly of bleach, Grissom explained.

Is it illegal to do home repairs now? The damned things were cracked. Mold was growing behind them. Do you know how long it takes to get a contractor to do a repair that minor? Alcott responded hotly, sitting down when her attorney directed her to. I did it myself while Hank was on vacation. Now I don't even have a usable bathroom.If you contact the city, they'll pay for repairs, Grissom added, handing her a card.

Oh, we'll be getting money from the city, all right, Lockhart promised ominously.

Brass ignored the implied threat, turning his attention to Alcott. Previously, you said that you last saw Hank at dinner on Friday night.Can you explain why the Highway Patrol spotted your car abandoned on Highway 15 that night?

Brass leaned forward in his chair, watching Alcott intently. A look of surprise, possibly panic, crept over her face. For a moment her eyes narrowed angrily, but she quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly.

I ran out of gas, she said, looking around in exasperation. Is that a crime, too?Elaine. Just tell them what happened, and we'll leave.Okay, I ran out of gas. I was only a few miles from a place Hank likes. I walked there and called him. We had dinner, drove back to my car, and he filled it up for me. I left as he was putting the gas container back in his truck, she said, wiping tears from her eyes. That's the last memory I'll ever have of him.Uh, huh, Brass said, looking at a paper in front of him. Well, the dinner receipt was stamped at 9:25. The officer spotted your car at 11:37. That's a long time to drive back, especially since it was close enough for you to walk.

Alcott dropped her head, blushing deeply. We didn't go straight back.See, this is why we keep bringing you back in. You forget these little details. We like little details.He was going to be gone for a week. It was a nice night. We made love. Repeatedly. Okay? she sniffed, crying openly now.

Gentleman, I think my client has put up with enough of your harassment for now, Lockhart said coldly. She is in mourning.We're not harassing your client, Mr. Lockhart. Why would we want to? Grissom asked, wondering why Brass was shaking his head.

To protect that bitch! Lockhart asked.

Sara Sidle. She works in the crime lab. The slut tried to break us up, but she failed. Have you torn up her home?That's an interesting question – Captain?CSI Sidle voluntarily allowed us to search her home and car. We are actively pursuing all avenues of investigation.Why don't I believe you? And is this CSI Sidle conveniently handling the evidence?No, she's not! Grissom answered angrily. Sara had nothing to do with this. He knew it; if only he could prove it. That would be a breech of conduct. Our lab's reputation is impeccable.We'll see about that, Lockhart said, holding out his hand to Alcott. We aren't finished here, gentleman. Not by a long shot.

Brass let out a long sigh, resting his head on his hands when Sheriff Atwater made his way into the room.

Do we have any evidence linking Alcott to the crime?Only circumstantial, the detective admitted.

What about Sara? Have you found anything that can clear her?Figured out how the gun was removed from the vault, or how Alcott could have gotten it?No and no.This isn't good, Atwater said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop in an annoying rhythm. It doesn't look good. If Lockhart goes to the press, and Sara is on active duty, well, it wouldn't be the first time he was able to make it look like a client was being railroaded.Sara had nothing to do with this, Grissom insisted.

There's a saying in politics, Gil. Reality isn't as important as the perception of reality.' I don't think Sara did it, but we can't have it appear like we are covering for her. I want her on leave until this is settled. Make sure she knows that it's paid leave.He's right, Brass pointed out kindly once they were alone. Sara's reputation could be on the line here. Lockhart's a snake. He'd leak stories to the press in an instant if he thought it would help a client. He could destroy her career.I know, Grissom said quietly, rubbing his beard absentmindedly. He knew that the move was necessary, but that didn't make it easier to accept.

It really is for her own good. I know it doesn't look that way, but it is.I know.I'll go explain it to her, Brass offered. You don't have to do it.Yes, I do, Grissom said, getting up from the table slowly.

The police captain shook his had sadly, leaning against the doorway as his friend trudged away slowly. Well, Sara was a smart kid. She might get upset, but she would understand this was necessary. Eventually. He didn't envy Grissom's task, though. Life sucks.Not always.

Brass turned his head as Vartan walked over, waving a file folder happily. Take a look at this.Oh, that's too much to be a coincidence, Brass said. One hundred grand? That'll get you a handgun.My thoughts exactly. Want to go talk with Mr. Saunders?Most definitely.

* * *

Opening the door, Sara was surprised to find Grissom standing there. It was late – for a night shift employee. Her initial irritation that he had decided to come check up on her was displaced by curiosity. By all appearances, he seemed lost. She stared at him for a moment, searching for a clue about what was going on.

His earlier pronouncement had caught her totally by surprise, and Sara was still trying to come to terms with it. She wasn't sure how to react. Sara wasn't even certain that she was up to spending another couple hours with him. He was confusing her on levels she never knew existed.

His cheerless look finally convinced her something else was going on, and Sara opened the door completely. Come on in. Want something to drink?No. Thank you.

Heading into the kitchen, Sara grabbed a bottle of water for herself, wondering why his answer seemed mechanical. Have a seat, she urged, watching as he slowly walked to the breakfast barstool.

His continued silence made her nervous. Sara tried to think of any circumstances that would bring him here, in such a mood. She didn't like the answer that came to mind. Her mouth was parched, but the water did little to ease her discomfort.

Didn't you have any luck with your case? she ventured when he still didn't speak.

Not yet.

Sara observed him with a growing sense of dread. Grissom didn't look at her when he talked. A facial tic marred his features. His hands were fidgeting on the bar top. Something definitely wasn't right.

Is something wrong? Grissom answered, staring at his hands resting on the breakfast bar. He looked up when Sara placed a hand on top of his. He gazed at her despondently.

_I just told her I loved her. We never had a chance to really talk. I hinted that we had a big break in the case, probably got her hopes up for nothing. Now I have to take her job away. It means so much to her. This is going to be hard. I God, please don't let her blame me._

she asked, looking at him guardedly.

I'm sorry.For what? she whispered, knowing what was coming next.

_He didn't really mean what he'd said. Even in the darkness, I could tell hadn't meant to blurt that out. I had doubts about it, but I never expected him to pull away this quickly. God, I'm glad I didn't tell him how I felt._

_Damn him. No. I won't cry in front of Grissom._

Alcott has an attorney. He's threatening to cause trouble. Atwater thinks insisted that you have to go on administrative leave. I don't know how long it will be. I'm sorry. This wasn't my idea.That's okay, she said, taking a calming breath and leaning against the bar wearily. It wasn't good news, but it wasn't as bad as she feared. Yet. This was the first step towards her losing her job. She wouldn't drag Grissom down with her.

You're not upset?

Despite the seriousness of this development, Sara nearly laughed at his shocked expression. He obviously thought she'd blow up at him. I didn't say that. It sucks. But I've been expecting this. Figured it was only a matter of time.I am sorry, Sara.It's not your fault, she said, shrugging as she hopped onto the stool beside his.

I'm working as hard as I can to prove your innocence.

Grissom frowned when she spun around to stare at him admonishingly.

Well, stop it! he asked, wondering how he got lost in such a simple conversation.

Stop trying to prove I'm innocent. That's not your job. I am innocent. You don't have to show it. That will come out in the end. You follow the evidence; you let it direct where you go. You can't force it to your presumptions.You're right, Grissom said, giving her a sheepish grin.

I had a so-so teacher, she deadpanned.

Sounds like he had an excellent student.Nah. Always giving him grief.That's true, he quipped.

They both laughed, letting off some of the tension. Grissom noticed that Sara was still tense, despite her attempts to cheer him up. She was taking this hard, no matter what she said. He reached over tentatively, giving her hand a tender squeeze. I better get going. I'll talk to you later, okay? she said distractedly, sliding off her seat to follow him. Grissom, wait. Before you go 

_Okay, he didn't take it back. He's actually worried about me, about how I'd react. I really think he is serious about this. Maybe there's a chance, if this case is solved. If he meant what I hope he did. This is Grissom. _

he asked softly, stepping closer to her. Grissom could see the apprehension written in her posture. Instinctively, his hands found their way to her waist, holding her delicately.

I she said, closing her eyes as she tried to frame her statements. When he eased her forward, Sara rested her hands against his chest, pushing gently to keep some distance between them. The closer he was, the weaker her resolve became. About last night. What you said I meant it.Okay. Uh, well, what did you mean?What I said, he answered, tilting his head in confusion. How could she misunderstand what he'd said unless she had no faith in him? I love you.Okay. Yeah. Well, I mean there are different ways that could be taken, Sara said softly, watching as her fingers splayed over his shirt. She could feel the warmth rising from his body, feel his breath on her face.

_It would be so easy. I've wanted this for so long. I never felt this strongly before. But I have to be sure. _

Sara leaned back, taking a deep breath and looking at him nervously. I mean it could be taken as platonic.

Relaxing, Grissom smiled as his arms slid behind her back. While I do want to be friends, that isn't what I meant. she responded breathlessly. You have no idea how glad I am you said that, he said.

Slowly, her hands moved upwards. One traveled behind his neck, exploring the short curls of hair above his collar. The other gingerly ran over his whiskers. Looking up, she saw his eyes darken with emotion.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, and she began to lean towards him. Grissom moved his hands up her back. Suddenly, Sara pulled back, the fear clear in her face.

Grissom's hands fell to his sides, his own panic rising. He thought she was going to kiss him; he hadn't meant to scare her.

she whispered, hiding her face against his shoulder. Please tell me it's not paternal, or I'm going to be permanently grossed out.

After blinking repeatedly, Grissom let out a long breath, chuckling as he moved a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. Smiling, he slipped his other arm around her waist, urging Sara closer.

It's not, he assured her, his thumb caressing her cheek. After a moment, he let out a sigh, his voice so soft Sara had to strain to hear him. Does it bother you? The age difference.No, it doesn't, she assured him, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair.

Grissom remained still as she restarted her tender explorations, keeping his own hands motionless. His fears that he had pushed too far, too fast, were still lingering; he wanted Sara to feel completely comfortable.

His breathing quickened to keep up with his heartbeat when she began tracing the outline of his lips. Slowly, Sara leaned into him, brushing her lips lightly against his. Pulling back, she watched him closely, a small smile forming.

Definitely not paternal.Only an idiot would think that's what we have, he whispered in her ear, looking at her in confusion when she cleared her throat.

Did you just call me an idiot? Cause that's not the best way to get another kiss.

_Oops._

Grissom relaxed when she winked at him, letting him know she was teasing . You didn't really think that it was paternal, did you?No, but – well, with the way my luck has been lately she said, giving him a grin and shrugging self-consciously.

Grissom returned the smile, and initiated a second, longer kiss. Sara's hands found their way back to his neck, while his meandered over her back, gently molding her body to him. When the kiss broke off, he held on, drawing her into a long embrace. While his hand stroked her back soothingly, he planted soft kisses along her hairline.

With a short kiss, Grissom stepped away, brushing a lock of her hair over her ear. He frowned slightly when Sara stepped away embarrassedly. She flashed him a grin, but he saw she was thinking about something. I better go now. I have evidence to follow.

Sara nodded, rubbing the back of her neck as she stared at the floor. _So much for not getting involved until this was settled. Damn. If I try to slow things down now, he'll be hurt, but it'll be worse if I let him get closer and have to break it off later. _

_Pessimistic much? We are the second best lab in the country for a reason._

She rolled her eyes, joining him beside the door and taking his hand. Okay. Uh, give me a call later. If you're free, maybe you can swing by for breakfast tomorrow when you get off shift, Sara offered, smirking when started to laugh softly.

I like that idea, Grissom said, letting out a happy sigh when she gave his cheek a parting kiss. Standing in the hallway, he smiled broadly at how well that had gone. Their personal lives were looking up; all he had to do was wrap up this case and clear Sara so she could get back to work.

It wasn't until he was in the SUV that Grissom remembered how little evidence there was to follow.

_TBC_


	14. Ch 14

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked for her beta skills and for all the tips in choosing a murder weapon. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Grissom quickly walked into the break room during the middle of the next shift. Vartan and Brass, along with the rest of his team, were already there. Word had come down from the sheriff; Alcott's attorney was causing trouble. If they didn't solve the case soon, it would be referred to Internal Affairs.

Legally, Grissom knew Sara wasn't in trouble. There wasn't enough evidence to charge her with the murder, but it could cast doubt on her role in Peddigrew's death. The odds that she'd be able to keep her job under those circumstances were slim, especially if Lockhart started a smear campaign to draw attention away from Alcott.

That bothered him on a number of levels. Professionally, he hated the thought of losing one of the best CSIs he'd ever worked with, especially one he considered a protégée and had brought to the city.

Personally, he knew that the loss would hurt Sara. She had always been highly ethical; having her reputation being publicly trashed would be heartbreaking. Grissom didn't want to think about how losing the job would affect her; Sara valued her work – possibly too much.

_As if I'm one to talk. I'm the one that ran from this, afraid of what would happen at work, afraid of the consequences. She was always the brave one, the one willing to give us a chance. How many times did I push her away? I hope I didn't wait too long. _

_Damn. _

_Sara's about to lose something she values, and I'm thinking about myself. What did I ever do to deserve her? I don't know, but I'm going to do everything I can to help her. _

"Let's go over what we know so far," Grissom said as soon as he sat down. "Peddigrew was shot three times in the chest at fairly close range, sometime between late Friday night and early Saturday morning. The body was stripped, cleaned and somehow dumped in a deep ravine without causing any injuries to the corpse. The gun used came from our evidence vault and was returned."

"Indicating an inside job," Brass noted with an odd smile.

"There has been an amazing lack of physical evidence," Grissom said, pausing briefly and taking a deep breath. "In the months before his death, a number of phone calls were made from his house to Sara's apartment, and there was a box of mementos of her in his locker. She denies having talked to him since they broke up after learning Peddigrew had another lover."

"But Sara volunteered to be investigated," Nick interrupted, slouching in his chair when Grissom eyed him shortly.

"The last person to see the victim was his girlfriend, Elaine Alcott. According to her, things between them were fine. On the night of the murder, she says she ran out of gas, walked to a diner and called Peddigrew. After dinner, they made love, returned to her car, and he was putting away the gas can when she drove off."

"Right," Catherine snorted, rolling her eyes when Grissom stared at her impatiently. "She didn't volunteer that information until Brass told her a cop saw her car abandoned on the side of the road."

He raised an eyebrow, silently conceding her point. "Peddigrew's truck was found in his garage. The house was locked and the alarm set. Besides his parents, the only people who knew the code were Sara and Alcott. Nick, when you examined his house, did you find any luggage?"

"Not packed, but there were suitcases and gym bags in the closet. His tickets for the whitewater trip were on the nightstand."

Grissom scratched his beard as he jotted down notes. “Did you find anything in the area where Alcott's car was spotted?"

"Not much," Warrick admitted, tossing the bag of shell casings on the table. "Only thing we found were those."

"But they're the right caliber," Greg said, looking around uncertainly.

"Take a closer look," Grissom said, moving the bag towards him. He frowned when Greg protectively snatched his coffee mug away. "Peddigrew was shot with a .357. Those shell casings are from a .38 special. The caliber is the same, but the length is different. Did you work on the bullet angles?"

Nick nodded, sharing a quick, embarrassed look with Warrick. "Yeah. Peddigrew was shot from below. Angles line up perfectly if he was standing in his truck bed when he was shot."

Grissom nodded, turning to Catherine. "What about the other evidence?"

"Archie went over the computers. He found old e-mail messages on Sara's machine, but the last one was from about the time they broke up. Nothing recent. Hank's hard drive had been upgraded; there's nothing on there older than six weeks. No messages to Sara."

"Any sign of the original hard drive?"

"No," she continued. "Archie's working on Sara's answering machine. It's fairly old; it's going to take some tricks to lift all the overlapping messages off of it."

"What about the timing of the calls?"

"There's nothing that contraindicates Peddigrew made them. He was off at the time all of them were made. No receipts or anything from the same time. I'm still going over Sara's records."

"Any leads on how the gun was taken from the vault?" Grissom asked the detectives.

"Possibly. One of the clerks, Chuck Saunders, recently received an insurance settlement from Silmont for one hundred grand," Brass said.

"Did Alcott have anything to do with the claim?" Catherine asked quickly.

"No. It was handled entirely by a Tyrone Walker. I had a nice chat with him yesterday afternoon. He was nervous, but he didn't give anything up."

"It could just be a coincidence," Warrick pointed out, although doubtfully.

"The claim was for his brother's death. Coroner ruled it a clear-cut suicide, no pun intended. Saunders sued, trying to get it declared an accident. It's been in paperwork hell for four years, and then it was suddenly awarded," Brass said.

"Nothing suspicious about that," Nick joked.

"You think the settlement was in exchange for the gun?" Greg asked.

"If we could find Chuck, I'd ask him. He's called in sick for the past two days. Went to his house, and he wasn't there. No one knows where he is. We're still looking."

"Nope, nothing suspicious at all," Catherine chimed in.

Grissom tapped his pen thoughtfully before looking at Brass. "How do you tie Alcott to this?"

"She's withdrawn thirty thousand dollars from her bank accounts over the last several months. She gives it to Walker. He signs off on the claim in exchange for the gun. Walker gives the gun to Alcott."

"Any proof?" Grissom asked.

"No," Brass said with a long sigh. "Walker offered to let me check his bank records to show that no cash deposits have been made. Either he's not involved, or he's smart enough to hide the money."

"So even if Saunders confirms your theory, it's still his word against Walker's. Saunders could have given the gun to someone else," Grissom said, not adding that it would have been trivial for the evidence clerk to pass the weapon to Sara.

"And Alcott claims she lost that money gambling," Vartan added. "The waitress at the diner Alcott goes to for breakfast remembers her playing the quarter slots every day. And the folks at Gamblers Anonymous say she's showed up for some meetings."

"Could be establishing an alibi," Catherine said. "Take your time dropping a few quarters in the machine each morning, tell the waitress that your luck is going to get better soon. Wouldn't take long to get a reputation."

"Seems like a lot of forethought," Vartan replied.

"This killer gave it a lot of forethought. There's no evidence. That means they had a plan and followed it closely."

"Or it was someone who knew how to dispose of evidence," the detective said, holding up his hands when Nick looked at him angrily. "Hey, no one is cleared yet. We have to consider all the possibilities."

"He's right," Grissom said, surprising the others. He blinked as they directed their glares at him.

_What? Do they think I'm seriously considering Sara as a suspect? God, they really don't know me. _

_And whose fault is that? Yeah. No wonder Sara is hesitating. I need … no, focus. Clear her first. _

"We know Sara didn't do it. The evidence will ultimately back that up. Treat this like any other case," Grissom urged as he repeated Sara's earlier words. "If we don't, we could overlook something crucial."

The others nodded, some grudgingly, but Catherine's smile was only partially hidden by her coffee mug. Grissom blinked in confusion when he noticed it.

"You were there when we found the body," Warrick said to the younger detective. "Sara wasn't expecting to find Hank there. You can't fake that type of reaction."

Vartan nodded. "Or she didn't know that's where the body was. She could have had an accomplice. How did she get the body down that embankment? There are no marks on the body or the cliff side. That's not something you can cover up."

"That's a problem with Alcott as a suspect. She's smaller than Sara," Nick said gruffly. "Hank was a buff guy. It would take a lot of muscle to haul his body around. Are there any other suspects?"

"At this point, not really," Brass answered. "Saunders worked the night of the killing. He may have supplied the gun, but he didn't do the shooting. We talked to everyone that knew or worked with Peddigrew. They all said he was a good guy, no enemies."

"A good guy that used Sara," Nick muttered under his breath.

"What about insurance?" Catherine asked.

"His parents are the recipients. Not even that big of a policy."

"Well, Hank's tox screen came up negative. And no elevated adrenaline levels. He wasn't expecting to be shot," Greg offered, clearing his throat nervously. "Which probably means he wasn't surprised when the killer walked up."

"Which also means that it was probably someone he knew. Sara ran some errands that night, but nothing that would have taken so long that it precludes her," Grissom said.

"And that takes us back to Sara and Alcott as the only potential suspects," Brass replied, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. "We have evidence that suggests either of them could have done it."

"Or both of them," Vartan added. "They work together to murder Peddigrew, then each claims the other did it. Becomes a she said/she said defense. It would never go to court."

"Wouldn't be the first time we had a case like that," Catherine said.

"But why would Sara use the handgun?" Greg asked out loud, looking frightened when Grissom snapped his head around quickly to stare at him. "I mean, well, uh, why would she use a gun from the vault? Then put it back? It's an added danger. And, uh, she could alter the barrel, right? Just being the Devil's Advocate, that's all."

"Right," Grissom said, tilting his head in thought. "Go back to your first statement, Greg. Why _would_ Sara use a handgun?"

"Damn," Catherine huffed out, smiling broadly as she leaned back in her chair. "Right."

"Okay. Uh, someone want to let the new guy in on it?"

"If I was going to kill someone in the middle of nowhere, I wouldn't use a handgun," Nick explained excitedly. "They're too easy to trace, and they aren't accurate from a distance unless you really know what you're doing. You have to get up close to the victim, and the closer you are, the higher the odds that you're going to leave some kind of evidence behind, or get blood splatter on you. It's too risky."

"A rifle is the way to go," Warrick added. "From a distance, it's a hell of a lot more accurate and has a lot more killing power. You can pick your spot and hide. No one would see you, you'd have plenty of time to make sure you didn't leave any evidence behind."

"It was at night, though," Greg pointed out, eagerly soaking up the information. "How easy is it to get a thermal imaging sight?"

"Shotgun, then," Catherine said. "Perfect weapon. It's impossible to match the shot to a specific brand or gun. The cartridge is destroyed, there's no rifling on the barrel. You never handle the shot, so there are no prints to lift. Lots of models don't eject the shells automatically, so you don't have to worry about losing one."

"And since the shot spreads out, accuracy is less of an issue. At close range, a shotgun blast to the head or torso is almost always fatal. The sound doesn't travel as far, either," Grissom added.

Catherine nodded her head knowingly. "And a sawed-off shotgun can be hidden under a jacket. The kick would be a bitch, but you only need one shot. It'll blow apart anything within six feet. Any pieces left over would be next to impossible to identify. Yeah, if I was going to kill a bastard, that's what I would do."

"Remind me to never cheat on her," Brass said a stage whisper to a snickering Warrick.

"Like you'd have a chance."

"Ouch," he said, holding his hands over his chest dramatically. "You're so cruel."

"Don't piss me off," she said in mock-warning.

"Catherine, you get back to work on the paper trail. Greg, get caught up in your lab. Nick, Warrick, we're going to go over the physical evidence again. Start with the truck and gun, then go back to the scene once the sun is up," Grissom said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

"What's on your mind?" Brass asked when the others left the room.

"Whoever did this thinks they're being smart, but they're not. They're following the stereotypical behaviors. Most murders are done with a handgun, so they used a handgun to kill Peddigrew. And the body was cleaned. That was an unnecessary precaution. It wasted time, increasing the odds of being caught. A CSI wouldn't make those mistakes."

"Unless the CSI was trying to throw off suspicion," Vartan said, getting up as his pager went off. "Might have a lead on Saunders. Catch up with you later."

Grissom watched the detective leave, feeling a strange sense of relief. Vartan seemed to take the possibility that Sara was a suspect too seriously; he was only doing his job, but the efficiency with which he did it was becoming annoying.

_Never thought I'd ever feel that way. _

_I never thought Sara would ever be considered a suspect in a murder. This is impossible. She'd never kill someone, especially not in cold blood. Not for being hurt. Hell, my bones would be bleaching somewhere by now if that were true. _

_But what about the phone calls? And why use a gun from the lab? The real killer went to a lot of trouble on those counts. Why? There has to be a reason. It's not random. What purpose would it serve? _

"Sara's being framed," Grissom declared.

"Or someone is trying to frame Alcott," Brass said, holding out his hands diplomatically. "But there's just one problem with either of those scenarios."

"Just one?"

"The body was in the middle of nowhere. Those rock hounds just stumbled on it. Unless you think that Alcott tracked their movements, so she'd know where to dump the body so they'd find it."

Grissom sat up quickly, a happy grin crossing his face.

"What do you need to go rock hunting inside of a mine?"

"A group of nerds in serious need of a social life?"

Grissom gave him a short, confused look. "A waiver from the insurance company. It's mandatory."

"I won't ask how you know that. But Silmont handles health insurance."

"It's a wholly-owned subsidiary of Sierra Silmont, and they handle most of the liability insurance for mines in this region."

Brass smiled as he stood up. "I'll track down the insurance waiver, see if Alcott could have know about it."

Grissom headed to his own office, pausing when he spotted Greg talking to Catherine. He was supposed to do something. After a moment's thought, he headed to the DNA lab, pulling out his wallet as he went. "For the coffee," he said, laying the bills on the workbench.

Their amazed looks made Grissom frown. _Do people really think I'm so rude that I wouldn't repay Greg for taking the last of his good coffee? I would have … if I remembered. _

_Well, Sara made a point of reminding me that I needed to do it, so she must think I am that rude. Or she knows that I tend to forget social niceties. Well, I'll make a point of letting her know at breakfast. That'll make her happy. _

Grissom's lips twitched in spite of his dour mood. He found the idea of making Sara happy very appealing. It was something he'd never had the opportunity to do before, and a mental list of things he could do to make Sara smile started to form. The sounds of Nick and Warrick working in the garage sent the list to the back of his mind.

_Solve this case and see how happy Sara will be. _

Once in his office, Grissom reviewed all the evidence they had, searching for anything that might have been overlooked. The entomological facts were consistent with a body shot and dumped in the desert. None of the tests run on pistol or the evidence box turned up anything out of the ordinary. Nothing unusual had been found in the autopsy. Peddigrew's clothes had never been found, and no one was using his credit cards.

Stretching wearily, Grissom looked at the bags of dirt and gravel recovered from the tires of Peddigrew's truck. Most of it was common to the region, but some of the gravel was unusual. He reached for Hodge's analysis when Catherine walked in.

"Hey. Find anything?" she asked, sinking into one of his chairs.

"No. You?"

"So far, there's one call that's iffy."

"Iffy?" Grissom queried slowly, peering over the top of his glasses.

"Sara was in court that day. Considering the time the call ended and the time she was due in court … well, she could have made it if she broke a few speed limits, but it would have been close."

"So nothing that clears her. Damn."

"My feelings. So, how's Sara taking this?"

"How do you think? She's upset about it, but she understands why it's happening."

"I think 'upset' might be an understatement, Gil."

"Sara is very …mature," he said, looking at her with a baffled expression.

"When she found out that Hank was cheating on her, did you know? Have any clue that something was wrong? I can guarantee that she was more than 'upset' about that," she said, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.

"What exactly are you trying to imply?" Grissom asked darkly.

"Nothing! Look, all I'm saying is that Sara will let you know if you piss her off at work, but she keeps her private stuff, well, private. She's not going to let on how much this is bothering her. Now's a time she could really use a friend," Catherine said, getting up and giving him a smile. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said, scratching his beard after she winked at him on the way out of his office.

He was trying to make sense of the exchange when his watch started beeping. Frowning, Grissom checked the time in disbelief, thankful that he'd thought to set the alarm. It was time to leave if he was going to be on time for his breakfast date with Sara.

He knew some things needed to change if he was going to have a chance with Sara. But change didn't come easily to him. It was a small thing, but Grissom was determined to make time to spend with her everyday, even if it was only to share a meal.

_I have to start somewhere. _

* * *

Opening the door to her apartment, Sara greeted Grissom with a shy smile. She moved away before he could initiate his hug, though, leaving a somewhat confounded entomologist on her doorstep. After closing the door, he watched her scurry around the breakfast bar into the kitchen, his eyebrow rising slowly.

_Why does this make me nervous? _

"Hi," he said uncertainly, moving to the proffered stool. As Sara worked in the kitchen, Grissom observed the surroundings carefully. Her movements were smooth, but there was an unmistakable tension in the room.

Plates, utensils, juice glasses and napkins were already neatly arranged, confirming that she was expecting him. He took his seat, quickly checking his watch to verify he wasn't late. _Safe on that count. I haven't been around a decomp, so I don't smell. She did invite me, so why can't I shake the feeling Sara doesn't want me here? _

"I thought you might be getting bored," Grissom said, pulling a stack of journals from his briefcase. "You should find these interesting."

"Thanks." Sara flashed him a brief smile as she took the reading material. When she placed them on top of the refrigerator without even a cursory glance, Grissom began to feel an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach.

_What's wrong? We left on good terms yesterday. Even I couldn't have screwed this up already. I think. No, no. I'm sure I didn't do anything wrong. I think. _

_What could I have done wrong? I haven't talked to her since I left yesterday. Sara did kiss me then, but she seemed a bit … unsettled by it. Did I rush things? If that's true, she wouldn't have asked me over. _

Picking up a glass, Sara took a long sip. As she turned around, she noted Grissom's intense gaze and swallowed nervously. "Iced tea. Would you like some? Or I could make coffee," she said, pointing to the pot.

"Tea is fine."

Sara grabbed two containers from the fridge, setting them down in front of him. While she retrieved another glass, Grissom poured orange juice for both of them. Looking up, Sara noticed his continued examination and gave him a hesitant smile.

If it was meant to be reassuring, it failed miserably.

"Did you sleep okay?" Grissom asked, wondering if her current state was due to nightmares.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Fine," she answered, hurriedly moving back to the fridge, taking out a bowl of fruit and platter of sliced tomatoes. She placed them on the counter without meeting his gaze, heading back to gather other items. "There's bagels and toast, too."

Her avoidance made the knot in his stomach started twisting.

_She's definitely stressed. I think Catherine was onto something. Sara's trying to hide how much this is bothering her. She won't come out and admit to it, but she is on edge. I wish I could get her to talk to me. _

_Would I even know what to say if she did? _

Grissom knew he wasn't the most socially talented person. In nearly 50 years, he had never been in a long-term relationship. Hell, he was lucky to get second dates. And none of his previous attempts had been complicated by the fact the woman in question was his subordinate or 15 years younger than himself.

And I hadn't spent the last two years trying to put as much distance between us as possible. If I couldn't make one of those simple relationships work, do I really have a chance at this?

_God, I hope so. _

_None of those women were Sara. That's the difference. She's the difference. _

_I would give anything to be able to take away her pain, to get her to trust me again. I'm afraid there's more going on than she's telling me. Something has been bothering her for a while now. I never pushed to get her to talk to me, but I wonder if I ever did enough to let her know that I was available. It's been so long since we talked freely. When was the last time Sara even volunteered how she felt about a case? _

_Well, it took time to damage our relationship; it's going to take time to rebuild it. Take one step at a time. Let Sara set a pace that's comfortable for her. Deal with what's going on now. _

_She's too tense. I need to do something, get her to relax somehow. _

"No bacon?" Grissom asked when she was finished gathering the rest of the meal. Sara's head jerked up suddenly, and he smiled innocently before picking up his juice glass.

She didn't laugh at the joke but gave him an eye roll. "I don't care what you want, I'm not handling your meat."

The glass of juice stopped in mid-journey to his mouth. Swinging his head around, Grissom stared amusedly at Sara as she rounded the corner to join him at the breakfast bar. She froze, dropping her head in embarrassment when she realized the meaning of her statement.

"That's not what … I mean that I'm not going to eat it … Ah, shit."

Grissom's smile faded when she exhaled slowly and grabbed the edge of the counter. Slipping off the stool, he rested a hand on her shoulder, nearly jerking it back when her muscles tightened. "Sara?"

"I'm trying to think of something safe to say," she muttered.

"It's okay," he said, giving himself a mental kick for not coming up with something better.

Grissom slid his hand across to her other shoulder, cocking his head in concern when he had to coax Sara to face him. When she rested her hands on his chest to resist his efforts to pull her into an embrace, his tongue licked his lips anxiously.

_Damn. Something _is_ wrong. Sara doesn't want me to even get close, to touch her._

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Tell me what I did wrong."

Sara's head snapped up quickly. She gave him a half-smirk, lifting her shoulder slightly. "Relax. You didn't do anything."

"Are you sure?" Grissom whispered, prompting her to nod her head. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's … just don't get your hopes up."

The knot in his stomach reached Gordian proportions as she turned out of his grasp.

"Sara?"

The pain in his voice was too much to ignore, and Sara stepped back, wrapping her arms around him automatically. This time, it was Grissom who tensed, and she rubbed her hands against his shirt, trying to give him some comfort.

"It's not you, babe," Sara said tenderly, pulling back to match his gaze. "I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"I don't understand," Grissom said, tentatively touching her shoulder.

"I'm not going to let this case hurt you."

"I still don't understand. How can it hurt me? You're the one that's being hurt. I, I want to help."

"Grissom," she sighed sadly. "Face it; things were going to be complicated – at work – before. You know, keeping us quiet, avoiding conflicts of interest."

"I know, but we can work that out."

Sara shook her head, once again stepping away from him. "Not this. This case … If you're involved with someone who was never cleared as a suspect in a murder, your career would be over. I can't do that to you. I won't let that happen."

Grissom stared at her for a moment. That was something that he'd never considered, not because it hadn't occurred to him, but because it wasn't a concern of his. He'd hid behind work too long; it wasn't going to happen again.

For many long years, work had provided all the gratification he needed in his life. It was a lonely existence, but it always seemed natural for a man who by nature was a loner.

Then Sara came into his life, and suddenly everything changed.

Work was no longer enough. The stillness of a crime scene no longer provided solace. It only highlighted the fact that he only came into contact with people under terrible circumstances. Sara's vibrancy served as a stark contrast to his mere existence.

Grissom wanted more, and he wanted to share it with Sara.

"Don't I have a say in this?" he asked gently, walking to her and placing his hands on her waist.

"You already have," she said with a sad, yet resolute, voice.

He blinked uncomprehendingly. "I have?"

"Not in so many words, but I know," Sara said.

"No, you don't," he insisted, moving his hands around her, frowning when she braced her hands on his chest.

"Grissom … Everything that's been between us, all the pushing away, the anger, it's all been because of work. You're not willing to risk it. I know how you'd react, Grissom. It's who you are. Just … wait. Let's see what happens in this case."

When she pulled out of the hug and headed to a stool, he stood still for a moment as he processed what she said. He had to acknowledge that her concerns were well-founded. For most of his life, her fears matched his probable actions exactly. Work had always been his priority.

Before Sara climbed in the chair, Grissom was beside her, his hands grabbing her shoulders quickly. Turning her around, he stepped forward and pulled her in close to his body before she could resist. He kissed her cheek softly before dropping his head to her neck, breathing in her scent. "You don't have to go through this alone."

She leaned back to give him a remorseful look, but her eyes showed how deeply his offer moved her. "Thanks, but I do. Don't get caught up in this mess."

"This is my choice. I know what I'm doing. Give me a chance, Sara."

"Why?" she asked, pausing to steady her voice. "Your job could be on the line. I know how you'll react. I, I don't want to be hurt again. And I won't let you get hurt. I won't put you in a position where you have to make that type of choice, Grissom. I'd never do that to you."

_Does she really think I'd leave her? I've never given her a reason to think otherwise. She's right. I've always picked the job over her. I have to make her understand. _

"You aren't doing this to me. I'm offering. I can't let you go through this alone."

"You job is your life. It means too much for you. I can't ask you to give that up. And I … I can't lose you to that."

"It's not enough of life, not anymore," Grissom said. "I want more."

Sara looked at him in surprise, her eyes starting to water before she broke eye contact. Her head shook minutely, even though she silently fought back the tears.

Grissom didn't let her step away that time, firmly but gently wrapping his arms around her. He slowly moved his hands over her back, trying to get her to relax. "Honey, I can't change what's happened in the past. I can't promise what's going to happen in the future. But I'm here, now. I am trying. I…"

"Shh. No," she said, patting his chest softly. "Look, your being here, you don't know what that means to me. But I'm not joking, Grissom. I'm not going to risk you getting hurt. Not going to happen."

"If the plan is to prevent me from getting hurt, it's not working," he sighed miserably.

"And if you're trying to make me feel guilty, that's not working, either," Sara stated with a trace of ire.

"I'm not," Grissom said, looking down in defeat. He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on her shoulder, giving her a hopeful look. "How about a friend, then? Can you use one of those now?"

"That works."

Seeing Sara with a true smile helped ease some of Grissom's concerns. If she was worried about how he'd react, it was his own fault. She based her conclusion on years of evidence. And deep inside, Grissom feared she might be justified – he'd recognized too much of himself in Dr. Lurie. While he'd never physically hurt Sara, he had hurt her emotionally.

It was one thing to want to be with her, but how would he react to losing his job if it came to that? Could he give up the one thing that had been the core of his entire adult life that easily? He wanted to believe he could, but Grissom had his self-doubts.

_I don't want to think she's right. I want to believe I'm a better man than that. But if nothing else, I have to wait for her. And she's not budging until this case is solved. _

"If you want to wait, Sara, I can do that. You've waited long enough for me," he said, giving her a cocky wink before drawing her closer. "And don't worry – I'll see that this case is solved."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Sara said in a small voice, but leaning cautiously into his embrace, her arms sneaking around his neck.

"I'm won't," Grissom whispered into her hair, sorry for his last comment. It was a gratuitous boast; they both knew that it was impossible to predict which cases would be solved, and which would remain open forever.

Stroking her back soothingly, Grissom made a silent vow: he would never let this case end up forgotten on his bulletin board. Until Sara was cleared, this case was his life.

_TBC_


	15. Ch 15

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Marlou for their beta skills. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale. And thanks to all who have responded to this story - your feedback has been incredible and appreciated.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 15 **

Grissom made his way through the university hallway quickly, double-checking the room numbers against the sheet of paper in his hand. He paused briefly to yawn and to take a long sip of water from a nearby fountain, mentally willing his exhaustion away. It didn't work.

After leaving Sara's apartment, he had returned to work, even though he'd slept little since the case broke. Too much was at stake. Clearing Sara was his personal priority, but that didn't interfere with his drive to solve the murder.

The reputation of the lab was also endangered. Evidence had been tampered with, taken from the vault to be used in a murder. If they didn't explain how that happened, all the evidence they'd meticulously collected would be suspect. The reputation he had worked so hard to establish for the lab would be gone.

And then there were his personal motivations.

A shadow of a wistful smile crossed his lips. Sara was adamant in her refusal to let him get close while she was still a suspect, not willing to let him risk his own job by association. Grissom found her protective actions discomforting at first, then he realized why. He'd essentially done the same thing. One of the reasons he gave himself for avoiding a relationship was ostensibly to protect her.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

_I wonder if Sara had any idea how prophetic her warning was that day I turned down her dinner invitation. I've finally figured out what I want – no, I always knew what I wanted; I was never ready to act on it, to face that commitment. Now I'm ready, and she's the one not willing to take a risk. _

_Of course, there's a difference. I tried to convince myself I was motivated by Sara's welfare, when I was acting in my own self-interest. Her fears are a lot more realistic than mine. There probably would be a political hell to pay if I got involved with a 'potential murder suspect', and God knows I'm not politically savvy enough to gloss over it. _

_And as much as it hurts to admit it, I can't promise Sara what I'd do in that situation. I know how I _want_ to react, but that doesn't mean I _would_ react that way._

_It's so unfair; anyone who knows Sara would never believe she's a murderer. But how can I prove it? _

_Follow the evidence – it never lies. _

After stretching slowly, Grissom resumed his trek. So far, they'd focused on the two most probable killers: Sara and Alcott. He knew Sara wasn't involved, and Alcott could explain away all the circumstantial evidence pointing her way. Personally, he felt Alcott's alibis were too well constructed, but without any evidence to prove she was lying, he couldn't show it was staged.

One thing he did know was that whoever killed Peddigrew went through a lot of trouble to cast suspicion on Sara. But Brass was right – that theory only worked if the rock hunters found the corpse on the way to the mine. That required knowledge about their habits, and Grissom was heading to the top of that proverbial hill for answers.

Finding the right door, he knocked lightly before entering the rambling collections room. "Dr. Fischer?"

"Go away! Office hours are posted on the door!" an annoyed voice called out. A head popped up from behind one of the numerous geological displays lining the tables when Grissom continued into the room. "Wait, I know you! You're the forensics guy. I talked to you after we found that poor man."

"Gil Grissom," he supplied, setting his briefcase on one of the tables. "I have some questions."

"Oh, good! I was waiting for someone to interrogate me," the professor said in an excited voice. Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he jumped on a stool and smiled.

Grissom kept his annoyance in check as he took the other seat. In his experience, overly eager witnesses were often less helpful than reluctant ones. They tended to jump to conclusions in their exuberance, or exaggerated things to play up their involvement. It was human nature, but it made his job harder.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about your club's field trips," Grissom said, watching Fischer's enthusiasm wane.

"Oh, is that all? They're listed on our web site. Ones that are open to the public are listed with 'open to the public' highlighted. Information on joining the club can be found there as well," he droned as he picked up a catalog.

"Anyone could find out about any of your outings?"

His eyes narrowing, Fischer stared at Grissom. A sly smile formed as he rested his forearms on the table. "You mean like the trip to the Grier Mine?"

"That's a good example."

"No. That trip is invitation-only, due to the physical demands of it. You wouldn't believe the number of people that want to go on these trips, but that aren't in shape to make it. You try telling someone they're too fat to fit in a cave entrance. Or pulling them out once they get stuck. Not fun," he said insensitively.

"So, your visit that day to the mine wouldn't have been common knowledge?"

Fischer leaned back, buffing his fingernails mischievously against his shirt. "Oh, that's not something I would say."

Grissom didn't try to hide his growing irritation. This case was too important for him to be playing games with a grandiose professor. "What would you say then?"

The geologist cleared his throat apologetically. "Err, yes. The Grier Mine Expedition is a bit of a prize, you could say. Even without listing it, we get a lot of requests to attend. It's always held twice a year, same dates each year."

"How many people would you say know about it?"

"Hundreds. At least," Fischer said after a moment. "We've used samples found there in some of the intro class lectures for years. That's a fair number of students. The club's membership is open to anyone in the area. People drift in and out, but at any given time there's a few dozen people outside of the university. A couple of years ago, the school paper even did a story on our trip."

Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, the tip of his tongue making a brief appearance as he processed the information. While not exactly common knowledge, the rock hounds' movements were predictable. The killer could have used that to ensure Peddigrew's body was found.

"One last question, Professor," Grissom said, reaching over for his briefcase. He extracted a sample jar containing some of the gravel found in Peddigrew's truck tires. They suspected that the truck had been used to transport the body, but they couldn't conclusively prove it. He hoped the professor could provide some information on where it had been.

"Can you tell me anything about this?" he asked, handing over the gravel and the accompanying Trace report. "Limonite, copper carbonate, a few other minerals."

Fischer glanced at the jar before scanning the report. Getting up, he quickly pulled a three-ring binder from a shelf. After leafing through the pages for a minute, the professor turned to Grissom and grinned excitedly. "I thought so. What do you want to know besides the fact it was found beside that dead man?"

* * *

Entering the interrogation room, Vartan glared contemptuously at the cowering evidence vault clerk. "Well, you're looking pretty fit for a sick guy. How are the healing powers at the fishing camp?"

"What's the big deal? I used up all my vacation time. I called in sick so I could take a break. That's no crime. I should call my lawyer. You can't arrest me for that."

The detective took a seat opposite Saunders. "First off, you aren't under arrest. Yet. You can have an attorney if you think you need one."

"What's going on?" Saunders asked, squirming nervously in his chair.

"Oh, I think you know, Chuckie. Sixteen years on the job, and you toss it all away for a check."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You think we don't know about the check from Silmont?" the detective asked.

"There's nothing wrong with that. That was from my brother's accident!"

"Your brother killed himself, Chuck. It wasn't an accident. Silmont had no reason to pay you. That's why a judge threw out your case when you tried to sue," Vartan pointed out coldly.

"My brother didn't kill himself!" Saunders yelled, standing up and pounding the table. "He didn't! You can't say that. It was an accident. We can bury him now, a proper burial. Pop died thinking Brian was damned, but we can fix that now."

Vartan leaned back in his chair, watching as Saunders tried to compose himself. This seemed to be an extremely emotional issue for him; no wonder he was willing to compromise his job. No matter the coroner's ruling, it appeared that the settlement from the insurance company supplied enough evidence of an accident that the church would let his brother be buried in consecrated ground.

"Chuck, we know you took the gun. We know you gave it to Walker," Vartan said calmly as he saw an opening. "That means the insurance check was a fraud. The church won't accept it as evidence of an accident. They still won't let your brother be buried. Unless you cooperate."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Saunders insisted, his eyes watering up with tears. "I didn't!"

"Oh, come on! You know you were tampering with evidence."

"No! Walker said they were doing a study, about how easy it was to get evidence from the lab. Said they'd use it to show the city needed to spring for surveillance cameras in the vault. The sheriff's been trying to get that money for years," Saunders explained.

"You did this for the city?"

"And Brian," he admitted. "That gun wasn't evidence no more. Hollandale was dead. Weren't going to be no more appeals. The gun was going to be trashed anyway. I was helping the lab, and helping my brother."

"You actually believe that," Vartan stated, staring at the clerk incredulously.

"Yes! What's the big deal?"

"Besides the fact the gun was used to murder a paramedic in cold blood?" Vartan asked harshly, letting out a sigh when the stunned clerk broke down into violent sobs.

* * *

Grissom eyed Fischer in anticipation. He had hoped to get some useful information, but nothing this dramatic.

_This could be the break we need. If the gravel is unique to that region it means the truck was at the dumpsite. We thought it was used to move the body; this could prove it. _

_And Alcott was the last person to see Peddigrew – and he was in his truck. It's still circumstantial, but we're showing a progression. It might be enough for a conviction. _

_If Fischer isn't exaggerating. He's too eager. _

"What makes you certain of that?" Grissom asked cautiously.

Fischer grabbed a plastic squeeze bottle from under a table, holding it up questioningly. "Distilled water. May I?'

"Of course," Grissom answered, getting off his stool to move closer. They'd already run all of their tests on the rocks. "You can do anything you want on those samples. We have more at the lab."

Fischer dumped a piece of the stone on the workbench and squirted it with water. The dull rock immediately sparkled a brilliant green and black. "It's malachite. See these inclusions?" he asked, pointing to a brown spot marring the surface and then to the corresponding spikes on the Trace report.

After Grissom nodded, the geologist walked to another table, pulling out a large topographical map and returning. "Those impurities are specific to a particular vein of malachite. It runs along here," he said, marking a section of the map. "We have people getting excited by it all the time. You can find big hunks of it, but," he said, picking up the stone and easily breaking it at the flawed spot, "it is exceptionally poor quality."

"And it's only found in this region?" Grissom asked. "No other veins have those same flaws?"

"Natively, yes, it's unique to that vein. But like I just showed, it breaks easily. The temperature extremes, geological activity, lizards crawling over it, all cause small pieces to flake off. When it rains, the flashfloods wash them down the gullies," Fischer explained, drawing a line down a depression on the map. At one point, he made a big circle and grinned. "And that's where your dead body was found. That gravel came from the same ravine."

* * *

Taking a seat in the office, Brass resisted the urge to check for bats. Every flat surface contained a multitude of rocks, giving the huge office an additional cavernous feel. The pale-skinned man opposite him even looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in ages.

"Herb Newman," the older gentleman said, shaking hands with Brass in a friendly manner. “You're here about Elaine, aren't you? This is terrible. I can't believe you're harassing her like this."

"We're investigating the death of her boyfriend. She's the last one to see him alive. It's a routine investigation."

"Hmmph," Newman huffed out. "Well, you're certainly wrong to think Elaine was involved in any way."

"You sound awfully certain about that."

"I am! When we first moved Elaine to the management track, she was offered a great job in our Reno offices. It would have been a major promotion for her, lots of prestige, huge raise."

"And she turned it down?"

"Yes," Newman said, nodding as he rested his hands on his belly. "She said that she wanted to stay in the Vegas area to be with Hank. He was looking out after his parents, and he wasn't willing to move. She gladly put her career on hold to be with him. I tell you, Detective, she loved him."

"People change their minds. He cheated on her once."

"What?" Newman sputtered in surprise.

"It's not the type of thing people like to brag about, but, yeah. You can see where that can put a damper on a relationship. So, she gave you no clue that maybe he was, you know, straying from the home pasture."

"No. No! Nothing at all. I find that so hard to believe."

Brass shrugged in a worldly manner. "So, Elaine ended up in insurance investigations?"

"Yes. She went through a routine rotation, to get experience in our different operations. She liked investigations, asked to be assigned there permanently."

"When was that?"

"I guess about seven months ago."

"Interesting," Brass muttered to himself. That was about the same time she discovered the box of mementos of Sara in Peddigrew's locker. "So, in her job, would she have access to waivers? Say for the mines."

"Not normally. Our parent company handles liability. They usually handle their own investigations."

"Would she be able to find out about them?"

"Well, everything is kept in a central database."

"And you wouldn't mind checking to see what records she accessed, would you?"

"Without a warrant, yes I would," Newman said, suddenly very serious. "We protect the confidentiality of our clients. Anyway, it wouldn't mean anything. We have our trainees pick out claims and policies at random to examine for discrepancies."

Brass nodded, taking the time to check out the various items in the office. "I take it you're a bit of a rock hound yourself."

"You think?" Newman laughed boisterously. "Oh, yes, I must admit it is a passion of mine. Well, it was when I was younger. I'm afraid I can't get around very much anymore."

"So, what's the attraction of this Grier Mine?"

"Gold threads," he answered, swiveling his chair around and picking a display from his credenza. He put down several large pieces of clear quartz down, each containing threads of gold embedded in them.

"I'd think you'd smash that for the gold," Bass said.

"Oh, no. This is a rare formation. It's much more valuable than the actual gold."

"So, did you collect those yourself?"

"Years ago. Like I said, I don't get around so well anymore. I haven't been back since they closed off the easy access."

"I didn't know there was an easy access," Brass said naively, smiling slightly when the other man nodded eagerly.

"There's a ravine that runs all the way up to the mine entrance. You could get to it off of the highway, used to be able to drive up with a four-wheel drive vehicle. Back in the late seventies, there was a flashflood. It killed a bunch of kids driving there. After that, they barricaded the entrance to the ravine."

"I guess you talk about this a lot."

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid I bore my employees," Newman admitted unabashedly.

"So Elaine would have known how to get there easily," Brass said, watching as Newman paled. "What road led to the ravine access?"

"I don't remember," he said curtly, getting up and storming to his door. "I believe we're done here, Detective."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Grissom asked urgently, brushing past the milling officers as he half-dashed up the hallway.

"Didn't you get my message?" Sara asked in confusion when he escorted her to a quieter area. "I'm taking a polygraph test. Pretty straightforward."

"I know what you're doing. What I don't understand is why you're doing it."

Sara dropped her head so he wouldn't see her amused grin. His protective streak was still endearing.

After breakfast, she'd mulled over their conversation. His insistence that he would be there for her, no matter the consequences, had been touching. It had even sounded believable. But she'd been burned once too often to trust him so completely.

_I hope he understands why I'm wary. I know he wants to get together, but if it really came down to a choice between me or the job, I don't know which of us he'd pick. And I don't want him to ever have to make that kind of decision. It would tear him up. I never want to be the source of that kind of pain to him. I love him too much. _

_And I don't want to have to try to deal with being the one Grissom didn't pick. That would hurt too much, too deeply. It's bad enough knowing the job's kept us apart this long. To actually let Grissom in, then have him leave … God, even thinking about it is painful. _

_But Grissom's trying. I have to give him credit for that. I know that's a milestone, and it means so much to me. _

_Can I do any less? _

"Grissom, if I were any other suspect, you wouldn't hesitate over a lie detector test," she replied.

"You aren't any other suspect," he said softly.

Waiting for some officers to walk by, Sara gave him an affectionate look. "Yeah, I am. To the system, anyway."

"But why take the risk? We're still working the case."

"What risk? The way I see it, I don't have anything to lose. It shows that I have nothing to be afraid of. If you can't find conclusive proof to clear me, and I pass the test, it might be enough for me to save my job. If I don't pass, and you don't find the evidence, then I'm not in any worse of a position than I'm in now. And if you do clear me, the result of the test doesn't matter."

Grissom let out a long breath as his hands flexed. As always, her logic was impeccable. Almost. She wasn't considering Alcott's slimy attorney. “If, for some reason, you don't pass, and Lockhart gets a hold of the results, you know he'll use it to trash you," he pointed out sadly.

"If Alcott goes to trial, he'll pull that stunt anyway," she groused. "I know he'll try to say the lab showed me favoritism, didn't investigate me thoroughly. I knew that was a risk no matter who's charged with the murder. That's one of the reasons I volunteered to be searched. I have nothing to hide, and a jury will see that. Let the bastard try. I'm not afraid of him."

Grissom took her arm, moving her to a bench. "Sara, you don't have to do this. We still have leads to follow up on. Don't give him any ammunition to use against you."

"It's only ammunition if I fail. And I have never failed a test in my life," she said jokingly, stretching back against the bench in a leisurely manner.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Look, you know as well as I do that false positives are rare. And a good polygraph reader can tell when it's due to the subject being nervous. The odds that I'll fail the test are pretty minimal."

"But it's still there," he said. Grissom frowned when her hand rested on his arm. Putting his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his temples sleepily. He knew she was right, but the thought of her facing any more suffering pained him. "I just wish you'd wait for a little while before doing this."

"I _have_ to do something, Grissom. I don't know how to explain it," she sighed, twisting on the bench to face him. "I don't have any … feelings for Hank, not after what he did to me."

He turned to look at her, moved by the emotional turmoil in her eyes. Strangely, he didn't feel any jealousy. This wasn't about any potential remaining affection Sara had for the EMT, but her innate sense of justice. Not to mention her fiery temper.

"It pisses me off that someone tried to make it look like I was involved in Hank's death. And I can't do a damn thing to help solve the case. I won't let his murderer get away without trying something," she said vehemently. "Please, don't try to stop me."

"Who said the murderer was getting away? We have …" Grissom started before pausing quickly, his head tilting to one side in thought.

"So, you have some lead you can't tell me about, or did you stop 'cause you didn't want to get my hopes up?" Sara teased, trying to lighten the mood by nudging his shoulder playfully.

Grissom's eyebrow went up as he shrugged. "I'm doing everything I can," he insisted, turning to look at her imploringly.

"I know. I don't doubt that at all," she said reassuringly.

Grissom dropped his head, his forehead wrinkling deeply. "I don't want you to get hurt anymore. I'll talk to Atwater. I won't let him kick you out of the lab over this. There's nothing that can link you to the murder."

Checking the hallway surreptitiously, Sara slid a bit closer to him on the seat. Grissom looked up, scanning the area quickly before inching towards the middle of the bench himself.

"You know, my reasons for doing this are more than professional," she hinted shyly. "There's a definite personal motivation going on."

"Really?"

She nearly laughed at his surprised expression.

"Oh, yeah," she said, nodding her head.

"Really?" he repeated brightly.

"Yes!" she said, rolling her eyes genially. "Just because I won't let you get caught up in my mess doesn't mean that I don't want to get closer. When this is all over."

"I am serious about us," he breathed, his eyes darkening with emotion.

"Down, boy," she said, softening her rejection with a smile. "I wasn't kidding. I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"To quote Russell: 'Ah, to think how thin the veil that lies/Between the pain of hell and Paradise.'"

Blushing, Sara dropped her head, giving him a smirk when she looked up. "Don't build your expectations too high."

"I doubt that I am."

"Right. No pressure there."

Grissom smiled, moving away reluctantly when he noticed the polygraph operator coming around the corner. Sara mimicked his action after giving his hand a quick squeeze.

"Do you want me to be in there with you?" he asked tenderly.

"Hell, no!"

He blinked as his jaw dropped. Sara's wide grin was the only thing keeping him from panicking. Seeing his look, she briefly stuck her tongue out before getting up to follow the operator.

When she rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, Grissom realized that she was trying to relax. Excessive stress could negatively affect her results on the lie detector test, and he decided to play along.

"What? You think I'll cause you to react if I'm in there?" he challenged in mock-indignation.

With a quick look over her shoulder, Sara grinned salaciously and answered quietly. "Grissom, I always have a physical reaction around you."

Walking into the room, she laughed at his thunderstruck expression.

_TBC_


	16. Ch 16

**Scorned****  
****Summary**: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked and Marlou for their beta skills. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 16 **

A still partially stunned Grissom moved down the hallway, pausing briefly to cast a bewildered look in the direction Sara had left. A small smile emerged as her parting words finally registered. With a brief headshake, he continued down the hall.

_Sara actually said what I thought she said. Well, she was trying to get a reaction out of me, and it must have been comical looking. It helped her relax, so I don't care. What's important is that she is willing to give me a chance. _

_I have to admit I was having my doubts. I know she's trying to protect me from any repercussions, but I wonder how much of her motivation was self-protection. She doesn't want to get hurt. If things did get bad, she's certain I'd pick the job over her. _

_Given the fact that work has always been my first priority, I can understand why she feels that way. Hell, even I can't guarantee how I'd react in that situation. That doesn't say much about me, does it? _

_Hopefully, it'll be a moot point – the polygraph test could settle everything. She's right; there's probably no reason to worry about the results. False positives are very rare. _

_But what if this turns out to be one of those cases? Sara was serious about not letting me get caught in this. If she doesn't pass, or if it's inconclusive, I don't think she'll allow me to get any closer. Then what? _

_I don't know. _

_Is that a bad sign? I know I love Sara. There's no question in my mind about that. But is it normal to have doubts like this? I can quote the Bard, the Romantics, Eastern philosophers, but saying the words isn't the same as living the emotions behind them. I am in new territory here. What kind of journey is this going to be? _

Lost in thought, Grissom entered another interrogation room, where he found Brass waiting with a well-dressed, dark-skinned man.

"Ah, there you are. Now we can begin," Brass said brightly. "This is Gil Grissom from the Crime Lab."

"Nice to meet you," the stranger stated brusquely. "No offense, gentlemen, but my schedule for the day is very busy. I'm more than willing to help the police, but if we could hurry along."

Brass gave him an insincere nod. "Of course. This is Tyrone Walker. He approved the payment of one hundred thousand dollars to Chuck Saunders. And in exchange, he gave you a handgun."

"Really?" Walker chuckled. "You know, I think I would have remembered that last part. Why would he do a thing like that?"

Grissom frowned when Brass looked at him curiously, irked that his concentration had momentarily wandered. Normally whenever something troubled him he focused on work as an escape. Now, work was his trouble, at least this case. The consequences ran dangerously high, both for the lab and for Sara. It was a level of personal impact that he was unaccustomed to having from work, and when coupled with his exhaustion, it affected his ability to focus.

Despite Grissom's best efforts, his thoughts drifted back to Sara. He worried about her interrogation, and what that meant for her future. He wondered about her admission, and what that meant for their future.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced his mind back to work. He could dwell on those thoughts later. The priority now was the case. Had Walker's laugh been nervous? The man was a trained insurance investigator. He would know all the body language clues indicating that someone was lying, and he would be at an advantage in trying to suppress them.

With a minute shrug, Brass' gaze went back to Walker. "For the money," he answered.

"Fine. Then why would I do it?" Walker replied, laughing again, unaware of the scrutiny with which Grissom observed him.

"Well, Saunders confessed that you told him you wanted the gun for a study showing that the lab needed to install security cameras in the evidence vault," the detective answered.

"That's nonsense. Why would Silmont care about your lab? We don't do any types of studies like that," he said dismissively.

"Oh, I know that. You really did it so you could get the gun."

"Why? I can get a gun anywhere."

"But not one that can be linked back to the lab."

"Captain, I wish you had told me to bring my tinfoil hat. That is the proper attire when you're talking about wild conspiracies, isn't it?" Walker sneered contemptuously.

Brass smiled humorlessly. "Funny you should mention conspiracies. I was just thinking that myself. Conspiracy to commit murder, for example."

Grissom rested his head on his palm, his eyes narrowing. Walker had an outward appearance of calm, but a facial tic was developing.

"This is insane," Walker said with a forced eye roll, but unable to control the slight waver in his voice.

"I think your supervisor might agree," Grissom said, turning to face insurance investigator head on. "Brian Saunders committed suicide. There was no question about that. You approved a payout for a case with no justification."

Walker's demeanor hardened for the first time. "Ever since that Lambert case, the State Insurance Commission has been riding our asses," he said angrily. "We didn't break any laws, but they are trying to hold us responsible for that crazy, old bat killing those people in her suicide crash."

"Your compassion is amazing," Brass intoned dryly. "And your company was killing her."

Walked ignored him.

"Every claim we deny, every case we review, the commission comes breathing down our necks. Our legal fees are through the roof. We're paying out settlements that aren't warranted just to get them off of our backs. No one in my department has gotten a bonus in over a year."

"That must be rough on the finances. And you're a member at Silver Estates," Grissom said, pointing out the insurance investigator's tiepin. "That's a very expensive club."

"It's easy to see why you'd be willing to help Alcott," Brass added. "No one would notice if you slipped in another questionable claim, and she pays you off."

Walker swallowed nervously, a thin line of sweat breaking out along his hairline. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath before standing up. "Detective, when you first came to me, I gave you my financial information. I know you didn't find any traces of the bribes you're implying I took."

"Of course not. You wouldn't be dumb enough to leave the money where it could easily be found."

"We're done here," Walker stated. "Unless you're planning on arresting me. And if you do that, I can guarantee I'll sue for false imprisonment. If you had anything, you'd have arrested me already."

"So, it's all a coincidence that Saunders says he gave the gun to you, you work with Alcott, and her boyfriend gets murdered?" Grissom asked levelly as Walker headed for the door.

"Maybe not, but I think you're looking in the wrong direction," the investigator said before exiting. "Saunders confessed. You should check his file. He blamed the paramedics for his brother's death. He sued them, and he was furious when the case was kicked out of court. That's the man you should be checking out."

Grissom turned to Brass, but the detective held up a hand and shook his head.

"Don't worry. Vartan already checked it out. Saunders didn't sue the local guys. It was a volunteer group out by Pahrump. And he found witnesses that Saunders worked the entire shift the night Peddigrew was murdered. The man may be terminally stupid, but he's not our killer."

Letting out a relieved breath, Grissom rubbed his temple thoughtfully. The case was already complicated enough without that new twist. But they were making progress. Slowly, the pieces were falling in place. "I can place Peddigrew's truck at the dumpsite," Grissom said, recalling the details of his earlier conversation with the geologist.

Brass smirked happily. "I can do you one better - I know how the truck got into the ravine. Almost," he corrected.

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked eagerly.

"Alcott's boss has rocks on the brain. He told me that there used to be a way to access the ravine from the road. He shut up when I asked what road."

"Would Alcott know this?"

"Boss admitted that he talks about stuff like that all the time. I have Nick and Warrick trying to figure out where the access point is. The ravine breaks into a couple of channels south of the dumpsite."

Grissom nodded as his eyes wandered in the direction of the other interrogation room. He hoped things there were equally optimistic. The thought of Sara carrying the stigma of being a murder suspect pained him; he could only imagine how it felt to her.

_What will she do if the sheriff doesn't think there's enough evidence to clear her? She couldn't work here. None of the major labs would want to hire someone with a questionable past, even with her experience. Maybe one of the smaller departments would take her, but would Sara be happy in a place like that? _

_Would I? _

_Even if she was willing to accept me, could I leave everything behind? Sara might be right. If we became involved under those circumstances, my reputation could be questioned. People do draw conclusions on partial evidence. It may not amount to any serious damage, but the risk is real. _

_But if I let her go, would there even be anything left behind worth worrying about? _

_That's what it really boils down to, isn't it? _

"Want to tell me why you think Sara's going to fail her polygraph test?"

Grissom jerked his head back around. An amused Brass reclined in his chair, his hands folded over his belly.

"She'll do fine," the detective said kindly.

"I know," Grissom responded, tapping his pen on the table.

"Then relax."

"I am."

"Well, I'd hate to see you when you're stiff, and I mean that on oh so many levels."

Grissom regarded him coolly, but Brass smiled as he stood.

"Look, when Sara told me she was doing this, I called in Marti. She's the best polygraph operator we have. I told her to be extra careful."

"Good."

"It's going to be a full test, lots of background material to make sure there's no mistake when they do the real questions. It's going to take a while. Why don't you go home?" Brass suggested.

Grissom shook his head, stretching wearily after getting out of his chair.

"Then go crash in my office."

"I'm heading back to the lab. Tell Sara if you see her."

"Okay," Brass sighed. "But a bit of advice, Gil."

Grissom paused, looking at his friend expectantly.

"If you're going to go all obsessive again, at least remember to shower this time," Brass mock-begged, giving a parting wink as he headed to his office.

* * *

"Grissom!"

Hearing his named called out in stereo, he stopped suddenly, lifting his head from the report to quickly scan the area. Archie approached rapidly up one hallway while Catherine bore down on him from another.

"Grissom, I have …" both started simultaneously, pausing to stare at the other. "Good…"

"In my office," Grissom sighed, ending the dual conversation before it could trigger a headache. He was already exhausted, and his stomach was seriously rebelling from neglect. Taking a seat behind his desk, he noted impatiently that the two were waging a silent battle over who would report their news first.

"Go ahead, Archie."

Catherine took a seat, flinging her hair back as she stared at him in surprise. Grissom shrugged. "He never gets to go first."

With a good-natured grin, the A/V tech took the other chair. "I pulled all the old messages off of Sara's answering machine. She was right – there are a number of messages left for the deli."

"Was that all you had?" Catherine said in mock-tease.

Grissom cleared his voice. If they did have good news, he was willing to cut them some slack to let off steam – to a point.

"No," Archie answered quickly, setting a digital recorder on the desk. "There were blank messages, too. Some of them ran for a several minutes. But listen to what's in the background at the very end of this one."

Grissom and Catherine concentrated on the garbled static, looking to the tech for clarification.

"And this is what it sounds like when it's been filtered."

"Hey! I'm back. They didn't have…"

"That sounds like Hank," Catherine confirmed.

"We're lucky. Dispatch has a lot of recordings of his voice from calls in the field. There's a little degradation, but I'd still say it's at least a ninety percent match."

"So, Hank didn't make the call. Who else besides Alcott was in his house on a regular basis?" Catherine mused, raising an eyebrow.

"Good question. Were any of the actual messages from Peddigrew?" Grissom asked.

"No," Archie stated happily.

"Not bad," she teased him as he returned to his lab.

"Catherine," Grissom prompted, putting on his glasses when she handed him a sheet of paper. It was a copy of the log showing all the phone calls made from Peddigrew's home to Sara's apartment. Two of the listings were highlighted.

"The first one is three minutes, the second nearly eight. Both are too long for a wrong number or a deli order. She wasn't home when they were made."

"You're certain?"

"Sara had appointments scheduled at the same time of both calls. I checked – she wasn't home.."

"An appointment?" Grissom asked, wondering why Catherine was being ambiguous.

"Yeah," she answered, staring at her fingernails.

He cocked his head in confusion. The last adjective he'd ever use to describe Catherine would be shy, so what kind of appointment would make her hesitant to talk about it? "Oh," Grissom said, realizing Sara must have been with her PEAP counselor at those times.

"Yeah," Catherine repeated in shock. With a smile, she nodded her head in approval that Grissom knew and had been cool about it. Maybe there was some hope for the guy after all.

"And thank you for being discreet about this."

"Hey, discretion's my middle name."

Grissom gave her a disbelieving stare.

"Okay, that might be pushing things. Brass told me about the ravine access. Heard back from the guys yet?"

"No, but the gravel from the tires puts Peddigrew's truck there."

"You mean I tore the damn thing apart for nothing?" she complained.

"I take it that's why you're wearing coveralls?" he surmised, taking in her grease-stained garment.

"Yeah. When the guys left, I got thinking. The access to the ravine wasn't going to be a nice paved road. I figured anyone could clean up the truck, but not everyone can fix one. The shocks and the suspension are both shot."

"The type of damage that can occur if the truck is taken off road."

"Especially when the driver doesn't know what they're doing. And I'm thinking Hank would know how to drive off road. Those paramedics have to get into all types of locations."

"True," Grissom agreed.

"And when I was going through Hank's receipts, there was one from getting his truck inspected two weeks ago."

"They wouldn't pass it with bad shocks and suspension."

"And he kept that truck in great running order. Never late for an oil change, all maintenance done at recommended times. I don't see Hank letting something like that go unfixed. I'm telling you – Alcott did it."

"But the DA won't go to court with what we have," Grissom sighed. "Since the gun came from our vault, the integrity of the lab is at stake. If he isn't positive that he can get a conviction, he won't risk going public with the fact that a killer took evidence from our vault."

"Alcott's good, I'll admit that, but she's not perfect. We're going to nail her. Sara's going to get cleared."

Grissom let out a short huff, rubbing his eyes after setting his glasses down. "She's taking a polygraph test now. Between that and these results, she should be cleared for work soon."

"I wouldn't count on it, Gil," Catherine said cautiously.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Politics. Lockhart is so sleazy even the other ambulance chasers hate him. I've heard there's a party fund set up from when he finally gets convicted of an ethics violation. Sara was just put on administrative leave."

"And if she's cleared too soon, he'll make it look like a cover-up."

"Exactly."

"Dammit!" Grissom swore angrily.

"Hey, look on the bright side. You've been after Sara to use up some more of her vacation time," Catherine pointed out.

"I seriously doubt Sara is enjoying this," he groused, fixing her with a pointed stare.

"No, probably not," she agreed, giving him a sad smile as she stood. "But I'm glad you lifted your head up long enough to notice."

Grissom shrugged noncommittally, checking his watch. Sara's test would probably be over soon. Once Brass let him know the results, he'd go to Atwater and press for Sara's return to work.

_This has to be enough to remove suspicion from Sara. We have a confession from Saunders that he took the gun and gave it to Walker. She hadn't been in contact with Peddigrew, but someone tried to make it look like she did. _

_She might have to wait a little while, but Atwater has to let Sara return to work. _

_Good. She'll be glad to know her professional reputation's still intact, and that there will be no question she wasn't involved in this murder. And that's the last hurdle standing between us. _

_Or is it? If things hadn't turned out this way, I don't know what I would have done. Should that be a warning sign? I know I love her, but I don't know if it's common to have these doubts. _

"You going home now?"

At her unexpected question, Grissom's head snapped up. He was surprised that Catherine was still there. She was watching him carefully.

"Not yet," he answered evasively.

"Gil…"

"I'm fine, Catherine. I want to wait for the polygraph results."

Her joints cracked as she slowly flexed. "Well, I'm beat. Things are going to work out. Don't worry."

"I hope you're right," he said softly after she left. Leaning back in his chair, he waited for the phone call and continued his self-reflection.

* * *

Nick studied the topographical map folded in his lap. "Turn left up ahead."

"How many of these little roads have we been down?"

"Well, since we haven't found the access point yet, I'm going with not enough," the Texan drawled.

"I still say this would have been easier to do by helicopter," Warrick said.

"Yeah, but none were available. Some hikers are missing. The living get priority."

Warrick bobbed his head, slowing the vehicle down. "Nick."

"I see it," he replied, spotting a dirt trail veering off the side of the road, disappearing around a hill.

Warrick eased the Denali onto the rutted surface, following the path slowly. After about a quarter-mile, the path dipped suddenly, leading them down into a deep gully. In front of them stood a weathered wooden gate, blocking their access.

"The padlock is brand new," Nick noted as he approached on foot.

"There are some fibers," Warrick said. After taking some photographs, he pulled a pair of tweezers and a bindle from his vest.

"White cotton."

"I think everyone knows that trick."

Nick leaned over to examine the lock in more detail. "Look at this," he said, pointing out the hasp and staple mechanism. "There's not much room to work here. I bet Alcott used a pair of work gloves when she took a bolt cutter to the old lock, but she had to take them off to get the new lock in place."

"So she used the towel to wipe the prints off. It would have been late at night. She wouldn't have noticed a few stray fibers."

Nick shifted his stance, miming the position needed to accomplish the task of wiping down the lock. His left hand stayed in the air above the wooden board of the fence. "This old wood is way too porous. It would never hold a fingerprint," he said, grinning as he turned to his colleague.

"But DNA is another story."

"Let's take this into the lab," Nick said happily. "It'll give Greg something to do."

"You remember what happened the last time we did that?" Warrick reminded him.

"Right," Nick said, recalling the earlier incident lining up the bullet holes in the dummy. He shrugged, going to the back of the Denali for tools. "No one can get that lucky twice."

"I'll remember you said that if he pulls another answer out of nowhere."

* * *

When Sara opened the door dressed in her pajamas, Grissom immediately regretted his decision to drop by unannounced. After speaking with the sheriff, he wanted to talk to her, but he hadn't considered the time. Her contented grin didn't completely put him at ease.

"Hey. Come on in. Want something to drink?"

"No, thanks." Stepping into the main area of her small efficiency apartment, he frowned. The covers were pulled down on the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I was reading," Sara said, giving him an apologetic smile. "Thanks, by the way, for the journals. I forgot to tell you when you brought them over earlier."

He nodded in acknowledgement, flexing his hands and keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

Sara crossed her arms, observing him carefully. She could tell something was bothering him, but as usual, he gave no clues as to what was going on in his head. A quick scan showed that he was wearing the same clothes as when he came over for breakfast at the end of last shift.

_So he hasn't been home yet. When was the last time he slept? He looks exhausted. I guess it's sweet, in a way, how he gets obsessive whenever a case has a connection to me, but he needs to deal with it better. This isn't healthy. _

_Yeah, well if he did that, you'd still have no idea how he felt, 'cause he wouldn't have been so tired that he admitted his true feelings when he was talking with Lurie. Not that that was how I wanted to find out, but at least I did. Good thing, too. If I didn't hear that, I would have completely given up on him. _

_And it wouldn't have hurt so bad when he didn't recommend me for the promotion if I didn't know the way he really felt. _

_Why do things have to be so hard between us? _

_'Cause neither of us are very good at talking? I think we both have trust issues. I know what caused mine, but who hurt him? I hope he'll let me help him. We can help each other. _

_If I can get him to talk. _

"I passed the polygraph test. Told you I would," she said lightly, trying to draw him out.

"I know. And we verified your story about the phone calls," Grissom said. After taking a deep breath, he shifted to face her. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You wanted me to fail?" Sara asked disbelievingly, cocking her head as she stared at him.

"No! Atwater insists that you can't come back to work yet."

"Why not?" she asked curiously.

"For your protection," Grissom said. "If we take you off administrative leave too soon, it could look like you weren't really investigated. I tried to talk him out of it, but he won't budge. You have been cleared, just not officially."

"It's okay. Not your fault," she replied. Chewing her lip, Sara began running a hand up and down her arm. "So, I guess that means you still haven't caught Hank's killer."

"Not yet."

She shrugged, looking away from him.

Grissom turned his head slightly, thinking she wanted a moment of privacy. He ran his eyes over the apartment, pausing when he spotted the newspaper. Peddigrew's picture ran next to an inside headline touting his years of service to the community. Picking it up, he quickly read the article, frowning at a second picture showing him with Alcott.

With a sigh, he looked at Sara's profile, trying to imagine what it must have been like for her. He knew she was a very private person, much like himself, but he couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like for her. To learn that the man she let into her life had used her; that she was never more than a secret he kept from his family and friends.

Slowly, he stepped closer to her, finally coming close enough to rest a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't tense, Grissom slid his arm across her back, gently coaxing her into an embrace. She responded by turning toward him, slipping her arms around his waist.

After a long hug, Grissom stepped away reluctantly. "It's late. I better get going."

"No way you're leaving. You're staying here. I'll set the alarm so you have plenty of time to go home to take a shower and change clothes before shift starts."

"I'm … what?"

Sara grinned at his flabbergasted look. "Dream on, buddy. First, you're way too tired to do anything like that. And that means you're too tired to be driving."

"I'm fine," he said, clearing his voice.

"Sure you are. Hey, we're finally starting to work things out. I don't want you wrapping yourself around a light pole," she stated, directing him towards the bed. "And the way my luck's been running, you would."

He smiled at Sara, taking comfort that she trusted him enough to let him stay. Even if he weren't physically drained, Grissom doubted she was ready for that stage. They still had too much ground to cover before delving into that level of commitment.

_What counts is that she is willing to pursue a relationship. We've waited years to get to this point. I can wait a bit longer for the rest of it. _

Grissom edged to the far side of the bed, shedding his vest and equipment belt before sitting down to remove his shoes. He then lay down on top of the covers and closed his eyes, ignoring the exasperated sigh from Sara.

An eye cracked open when he felt the cotton throw landing on top of him. With a smirk, she slipped under the covers, leaning over to hug him.

"Thanks," she whispered into his neck.

"You're welcome," he answered, opening both eyes and twisting his head to watch her.

"For being here," Sara replied to his unspoken question.

Grissom smiled, rolling to his side when she settled back. Reaching over, he lightly ran his fingers over the smooth skin of her cheek. When she closed her eyes, he let out a long breath. This was what he wanted. Wasn't it?

_Then tell her! I've been thinking it over all day. What good does it do to reach a conclusion if I can't share it with her? I know Sara still has to have some doubts – put them to rest. _

"I will be here for you, Sara. I'll do the best I can."

He drew back his hand when she opened her eyes. It was her turn to examine him. She had an almost embarrassed look. Grissom felt his muscles start to tense as her expression grew more serious.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked softly, waiting until he nodded. "Why? I mean you didn't want to risk it before."

"I changed my mind."

Sara shook her head uncertainly. "This started after I got pulled over. You aren't doing this because you feel guilty or anything is it? 'Cause I did that to myself. Get that straight."

"No, it has nothing to do with your drinking."

"But you did change the way you treated me after that."

Grissom's head nodded slowly as he licked his lips. That incident had scared him – she could have easily been in a serious accident rather than stopped by an officer. It also showed that something was deeply troubling her, and he had no idea what it was.

_Why would she have told me? I never encouraged her to come to me with her troubles. If anything, I've discouraged people from telling me about their personal lives. _

_And what have I ever shared with Sara? That's something we both need to work on – talking to each other. No time like the present. If I want her to talk to me, I need to be willing to open up to her. _

"When the call came that you'd been picked up, my first question was if you were hurt," he explained, his hand coming to rest above her hip. "On the ride over, I kept thinking of all the things that could have happened to you, and I realized that I hadn't been a friend to you in a long time. If anything had happened to you…"

"But nothing did."

"I still made me think. I wanted to repair our friendship."

"Okay, but this is more than friendship," she said with a fleeting, bashful grin. "Weren't you afraid of what you could lose if we were together?"

"You possess the ability to hurt me like no one else ever has," Grissom admitted guardedly. "I know how much pain I would be in if you left me."

"Are you still afraid?" Sara asked hesitantly, her fingers touching his arm tenderly.

He took a moment to answer, finally locking his eyes on hers. "Yes."

"But you're sure you want to take that risk now?"

"Yes. I realized that if your leaving me would leave that big of a hole in my life, then I really didn't have much of a life to begin with."

Sara's eyes opened in surprise, both at the openness of his response and the emotional intensity in his eyes.

"Wow," was all she could manage to say, quickly rolling over and turning off the light. A lone tear ran down her cheek as she processed his assertion.

_God, I wasn't expecting that. I knew he cared, but I had no idea it went that deeply. How can I convince Grissom I wouldn't ever hurt him? _

Her musings were cut short when he slid closer, snuggling up behind her. Sara looked over her shoulder when his hand began running through her hair. In the dim light, she could just make out the play of emotions on his face.

"I want to live, Sara," he whispered urgently into her ear. His low tone couldn't cover both the need and the fear in his voice.

Grissom held his breath as she started to move away, fear paralyzing him. It had taken time to work up the courage to finally to admit the depth of his feelings, and now she was pulling away from him.

He watched, mystified, as Sara kicked the covers to the foot of the bed. When she joined him under the throw, a relieved smile emerged. He gladly wrapped his arms around her after she rested her head against his chest.

"So do I," Sara said, drifting off to sleep listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

_TBC_


	17. Ch 17

**Scorned****   
****Summary**: Finished. Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.  
**A/N:** Thanks to Burked for her beta skills. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.  
**Rating:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.

* * *

**Chapter 17 **

When Grissom entered the break room, Catherine eyed him curiously as she sipped her second cup of coffee. He headed straight to the counter to get his own dose of caffeine, but there was no sign of the tension that had plagued him since they started their investigation of Peddigrew's murder. Considering the case was still open, she was surprised.

"You look awfully good," she opined.

"Hmmm," he responded, frowning when he looked over his shoulder. "You don't."

"I'm exhausted," Catherine huffed grumpily.

Grissom joined her at the table, giving her a half-shrug in way of apology. "I slept well today."

"Really, Gil? Well, good for you."

The mug of coffee paused momentarily on the way to his mouth while his eyes darted up to see her amused expression. With an eye roll Grissom broke off contact and took a long drink, deciding ignoring Catherine was the best course of action. Unfortunately, she wasn't ready to drop the subject.

"So, what's your secret? To a good sleep? I think I could use some pointers," she purred, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table.

"A clear conscience," he said sharply, hoping to dissuade any further questions.

Catherine sank back into the chair, but her knowing grin left him feeling annoyed. Unlike her, Grissom didn't want his personal life to be common knowledge. Especially when it included Sara. He wasn't sure how to classify their current standing, but he knew they were on the path to becoming a couple. And with their work positions, they faced enough obstacles without the complications of office gossip.

Grissom toyed with the file in front of him, looking up as he waited impatiently for the rest of the team to arrive. He didn't want to think about the hurdles before them; every time he did so in the past, he managed to convince himself that the risk was too great, and he had backed off. Sara deserved better, and Grissom was determined not to harm her.

_I can't do that anymore. When I decided to go ahead with this, I promised myself I wouldn't pull back again. I hurt Sara by doing that. If we have any chance of a future, I can't do it again. _

_No, I won't hurt her again, at least not intentionally. I want to make her happy. _

_And it looks like she's going to give me a chance. But first, I have to regain her trust. _

When the alarm sounded earlier that evening, he awoke to find Sara watching him openly. Her expression contained an unmistakable affection, but Grissom also noted some concern and hesitation. It hurt that she was still wary around him, but it hurt more to acknowledge that he'd given her plenty of reason to be leery.

Waking slowly, he'd reached up to cup Sara's cheek, stroking the skin softly as she closed her eyes. They stayed in that position, both drawing comfort from the simple gesture. Finally, Sara pulled back and pointed to the breakfast bar.

The smell coming from the breakfast bar had driven the last of the sleep from his mind. It was then that he realized Sara was showered and dressed. She'd been up long enough to go out for Chinese food and to fix coffee.

That still concerned him. She was as exhausted as he was, if not more so emotionally, but Sara hadn't been willing to talk beyond admitting she hadn't slept well.

After a cozy dinner, Grissom felt something that he hadn't in years – he wanted to play hooky. The thought of calling in and staying with Sara that night had been powerful. And confusing. Just how much was his life going to change?

_Probably in more ways than I can imagine. I haven't felt like staying home like that since high school. Well, not exactly the same. If Sara had been in my bed when I was in high school, I wouldn't have spent the day reading Asimov. _

_Well, I was tempted, but I didn't ignore my responsibilities. I did come into work. There's nothing wrong in thinking about slacking off, as long as I don't let it affect my professional life. _

_And change doesn't have to be bad. It was … nice … waking up with Sara there, sharing dinner. That is something that I could get used to. _

Nick's greeting pulled Grissom back to the present. "I am so wasted. You look rested, though," he said, yawning deeply as he collapsed into a chair.

"He has a clear conscience," Catherine said teasingly.

"I don't think I want details."

"Oh, I think they could be fun," she replied slyly.

Again Grissom ignored her, waiting until Warrick and Brass entered the room before looking up from his file.

"Nick and I found the entrance to the ravine," Warrick stated while getting some coffee. "The gate is ancient, but the padlock is brand new."

"No prints on it, either, but there were some white cotton fibers," Nick added. "We did some checking. That brand of lock is sold at every hardware and home improvement store around. Not going to be able to trace it."

"We brought back the gate. It's old wood, so fingerprints are out. We swabbed it for DNA. There is some, but it's degraded. It's going to be weeks before there's enough replicated to test, though."

"Assuming it isn't so degraded it's useless," Catherine pointed out with a scowl.

"Is there any chance that Tyrone Walker killed Peddigrew?" Grissom asked.

Brass shook his head vaguely. "Can't find any motive. There's no evidence the two of them ever met, and we talked to Walker's co-workers. No sign that he and Elaine were anything other than acquaintances."

"Damn, she's good," Catherine admitted grudgingly. "Alcott takes her time, builds up an alibi that she had a gambling problem, but really uses that money to bribe Walker. He signs off on Saunders's claim in exchange for the handgun from the evidence vault."

"And then she drives out to some deserted back road, parks her car, then walks to a diner," Nick continued. "She calls Hank to give her a lift, claiming she's out of gas. When he gets there, they eat dinner…"

"What's the word on that?" Brass interrupted. "How long between when he ate and died?"

"Doc puts it at an hour or so, based on stomach contents," Grissom said. "According to Alcott, they made love in that time."

"She did Hank before killing him?" Nick asked disgustedly.

"That's what she claimed – after she found out the state patrol found her car later that night," Catherine said.

"Even if they left immediately after they finished eating, that doesn't leave much time for doing the deed and driving out to her car," Warrick noted.

Catherine smirked. "You haven't met some of the guys I dated. And for the record, she wasn't out of gas. The gas can on Hank's truck was filled, and there are no all-night stations anywhere in that area."

Grissom nodded, tapping his pen on the table. "So, Alcott gets him on that empty road, and she kills him when he climbs into the back of his truck. She drives him to the ravine, knowing that the rock hounds will be there in a few days. Somewhere along the way, she strips his body and cleans it off."

"There are a million places she could have dumped or buried his things," Warrick said. "And lots of self-service car washes. She rinsed out the bed of the truck, vacuums the interior before driving it back to his house."

"But how did she get back to her car?" Nick asked.

"Called a friend for a lift? Or a cab, especially one of those off-the-book drivers," Catherine ventured. "Hank's place isn't that far from some of the old, off-Strip casinos. She could have walked there and called."

"There's only one problem," Grissom said. "There is absolutely no physical evidence that shows the gun went from Saunders to Walker to Alcott."

Standing up, Brass placed a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "I hate to tell ya, but science isn't the answer to everything. Shocking, I know, but expand your horizons. Let's go."

"Where?"

"We're going for the weakest link."

"Brass?" Catherine queried.

He grinned. "We mere, humble police types were solving crimes a long time before you got all your fancy toys. Come with me. And bring your kit."

Grissom watched as the detective walked out of the room. Exchanging confused shrugs with the other scientists, he hopped up to grab his kit.

* * *

Entering the interrogation room, Grissom noted Tyrone Walker sitting alone at the table, his hands fidgeting nervously. 

"Detective, what is the meaning of this? What's the big deal calling me down here in the middle of the night? I said I'd help you, but this, frankly, is harassment."

Grissom took his seat quietly. Despite his indignant airs, Walker was clearly on the verge of panic. His eyes were still trained on the kit Grissom had set on the table.

"Oh, I don't think it's harassment. Now, what you'll be going through in prison … well, let's just say that's another story," Brass said jovially.

"If you had something, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Walker said.

"Really? You know, I think you're wrong," Brass said, fixing him with a humorless smile.

Grissom rested his chin on his palm, keeping his face impassive. Walker was smart enough to keep quite, no matter how on edge he was.

"You see at first we liked Alcott for this murder," Brass said. "Hank had cheated on her. She took all this money out – pretty much went through everything she inherited from her grandparents."

"Whatever," Walker muttered, his eyes darting around the room as he squirmed on his chair.

"And Chuck Saunders did tell us he gave you the murder weapon."

"Nonsense. It's my word against his, and I didn't confess to a crime."

"True. But then we found these at the murder location," the detective said, tossing a bag of shell casings on the table. "Surprised? Thought you had them all?"

_Now I see what he's doing. Those shell casings have nothing to do with our case, but Walker doesn't know that. And it's not illegal for the police to trick a confession out of someone. _

"I, I, I don't know what you're talking about."

Brass brushed a speck of lint from his suit. "You know, DNA is a wonderful thing, but it's pretty new. The tests only became practical in the last few years. Before that, we didn't have to worry about cross-contamination. The murder weapon was in storage for fourteen years. Evidence bags from back then weren't designed to prevent DNA contamination," he lied smoothly.

Walker swallowed audibly, but remained silent.

"And guess what we found on the gun and the bullets? Fresh DNA. It's male, and it doesn't belong to Saunders."

"No. You, you can't test for DNA that quickly," the insurance investigator said, his agitation making his voice crack.

"We can't get a match that quickly," Grissom injected. "It takes much less time to rule out a sample. As soon as one locus doesn't match, you know the samples came from different sources. And immunoassays are even faster. They can be done in minutes."

"This is crazy. I didn't kill anyone!"

"Well, we do have a warrant for your DNA," Brass said. "So if you never handled the gun, or the evidence bag, then you have nothing to worry about."

"What? No!"

"Here it is," he said, pulling the folded paper from his jacket pocket. "And we also get to check your home, office, car."

"Stop!" Walker called out when Grissom approached with a swab. He backed against the far wall, looking around frantically as the officer on duty rested his hand on his nightstick. "I didn't kill anyone!"

"You know, that's what they all say," Brass said with a heavy sigh.

"I want an attorney, I want a deal. Elaine came to me, said she wanted to get even on some bitch at the Crime Lab. Said this woman was the reason Silmont was under investigation. All she said was that she was going to embarrass her, make it look like she was incompetent."

"Nonsense. It's your word against hers, and she didn't admit to being part of this," Brass said mockingly.

Walker slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. "No, I can prove it. I can."

* * *

"So glad you could make it," Brass said sarcastically when Alcott and her smarmy attorney entered the room. 

"What's going on?" Lockhart demanded immediately. "You better not be planning on harassing my client any further. Your conduct during this investigation has been inexcusable. We're planning on filing a complaint already, but it would be so easy to modify it."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. Our investigation is over," Brass said, looking to Alcott. "We're going to arrest your client for the murder of Hank Peddigrew."

"What?" she stammered, paling as she sank into the chair.

"Detective, you don't want to do that," Lockhart said darkly.

"You have no idea how wrong you are," Brass told him.

"You can't prove anything," Alcott said. She ran her hands through her hair and cleared her throat loudly. "I didn't do anything."

"Besides murder your lover, you mean."

"Detective, I warn you, I won't let you file false charges against my client."

"Oh, there's nothing false about them. Is there, Elaine?" he asked, smiling at her ragged breathing.

"You're just protecting that whore of yours. Is she doing you, too? Well, I'm not going to let her ruin my life anymore than she already has."

Brass narrowed his eyes as he pressed the palms of his hands into the table. "Don't you mean you're not going to let Hank ruin your life anymore? He's the one that cheated on you. What's the matter? Did he keep cheating?"

"This is your fantasy, Detective, not mine."

"Oh, this is very real. So, what did his parents ever do to you?"

"What?"

"I'm a parent – trust me, there is nothing worse than outliving your kid. I can tell you, they wish they were dead now, instead of Hank. And they'll probably feel that way every day until they die."

Alcott closed her eyes, clutching her hands tightly. "I didn't hurt them."

"Sure you did. You didn't think about that, did you? What was it like, watching them the first time after they heard about their son?"

"Shut up," she hissed.

"Detective, I won't let you treat my client this way."

Brass leaned back in his chair. "You know, there's only one problem with committing the perfect crime. It doesn't exist. You made too many mistakes. And you know what the biggest one was?"

"Do tell," she sighed dramatically.

"You involved someone else," Brass said, waiting until she met his gaze. "Walker confessed. He told us how you paid him to get a gun from the lab."

Alcott shook her head. "Walker? Walker who? You mean that black guy from the office? I never paid him any attention, let alone money for a weapon."

"And I think this has gone on long enough," Lockhart said. "It's clear you are trying to frame my client. Let me guess – this Walker man got a deal to tell you what you wanted. Oh, a jury is going to love that. Let's go, Elaine. They wouldn't dare arrest you."

"Sit. Back. Down," Brass said harshly, turning his head to stare at Alcott. "Walker was smarter than you gave him credit. He didn't completely trust you, so he recorded the whole exchange in the Rampart's parking lot. We have the film of you handing him the bag with the money and him giving you the gun. And your prints are all over that bag and the money."

Alcott's jaw dropped, and she kicked the table furiously. "That stupid son-of-a-bitch!"

"Elaine, don't say…"

"I should have killed that bastard, too. I knew he was an idiot."

"Elaine,…"

"Oh, shut the hell up. A lot of good you were. You couldn't even get that Sidle bitch fired. 'We can't do anything while she's under investigation.' You are so full of shit."

Lockhart held up his hands in defeat, more than willing to let his client sign her own death warrant.

"You know, you're wrong about Sara. She never came on to Hank," Brass said, feeling the need to have that fact included in the official record again.

"Do you think I care about that? Do you have any idea what I went through? For years, Detective, for years I was with Hank, patiently waiting for him to propose. For us to start a family. And then I find out he was cheating on me."

Alcott stood, pacing around the room angrily.

"And you want to know the worst part? I blamed myself," she said with a deeply bitter laugh. "I figured maybe I did something wrong, maybe I wasn't making him happy. So I didn't complain at all about what he did to me. I even went to a lot of trouble arranging a job interview for Hank, to get him a better future. And the bastard got mad at me. 'Sara never tried to change me. Sara accepted me for who I was.' God, I hated her.

"And Hank had the nerve to be upset with me! Like we did anything wrong with the Lambert case. We didn't break any laws. But, no, I was a bad person for doing my job. Can you believe that?"

"So, you waited almost two years to get even. Why the wait?" Brass asked curiously.

"I tried to make our relationship work. All that time, I gave it everything I had. I turned down promotions to stay with him."

"And then you found the box of photos he kept in his locker."

"He got drunk when I told him about that. Hank actually told me he regretted not breaking up with me before starting to see that Sidle bitch. Said his life would have been a whole lot better if he just been with her."

"So why not let him go?"

"You don't get it. He wouldn't marry me, but he said he wished he had married that whore. He wanted her to have his children, but me, the woman who gave up promotions, who forgave him, who put up with him for years, no, I wasn't good enough," Alcott said, unable to stop the torrent of tears. She slammed her hand down hard on the table. "No one treats me like that. No one. So I killed him. And I wanted that bitch to suffer, too."

Behind the one-way mirror, Grissom's head twisted to stare at Catherine. "It took that much for her to finally break? It doesn't make sense. The signs were there that their relationship was doomed. Why didn't she just leave him before?"

"You'd be surprised what a woman in love will put up with," she answered slowly, looking up to give him a pointed stare. "To a point."

He raised an eyebrow in silent acknowledgement, turning back to watch the officer cuff Alcott. "She ruined so many lives. She could have ruined more if we hadn't caught her."

"You know what they say – 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'. And I'm beat. I'm going home," Catherine said around her yawns. "Hope you learned something, Gil."

"More than you know," he admitted, returning her friendly smile as she left.

* * *

Grissom left his hiding spot in the clump of lush trees, crossing over the carefully maintained lawns. When Sara had requested to stay off work until that evening, it didn't take him long to figure out why. The cemetery served as a quiet oasis of death in the middle of the desert. 

He waited through the entire service, as Hank Peddigrew was finally laid to rest with full honors from the fire department. It wasn't until the last of his friends and family members had left that Sara made her appearance.

Now, she stood alone over the flower-covered mound, a lone rose in her hands.

Feeling a bit like an intruder, Grissom slowly walked towards her, sadly watching as she knelt beside the grave to place the rose on the top of the others flowers. Her hand rested there for a long moment before she stood back up. She was wiping her hand over her eyes when he rested his hand on her shoulders.

"Sorry," he said, giving her a contrite smile when she jumped.

"Hey," Sara said softly, turning away to stare at the grave.

Grissom stood beside her silently, wondering if he should remove his hand. They were alone at the cemetery, but he wasn't used to public displays of affection. And he wasn't sure if it was welcomed.

They were still feeling out their relationship. He'd taken the plunge first, admitting how he felt, but Sara had yet to return his declaration of love. She also hadn't turned him away, leaving Grissom optimistic, but definitely befuddled.

He'd staged a long mental debate about attending the ceremony. Maybe this was something she wanted to do alone. After all, if Sara had wanted him there, she could have asked.

Unless she thought he'd react negatively to being asked to attend her ex-lover's funeral. Grissom had to admit he wasn't entirely comfortable here, and that Sara would have been justified in those concerns.

In the end, he decided it was important to show support. If Sara wanted some time alone, he'd back off until she was ready for his company.

"I thought you'd be here," he said eventually. "I thought you might want some company."

"I, uh, didn't want to show up earlier. I really didn't think I'd be welcomed, with all that happened," she sniffed. "I'm probably the last person – well, second to last person – his family would want here."

Grissom inched closer, his hand squeezing her shoulder in comfort. "This wasn't your fault. You're not responsible for his death."

"I know, but it still hurts. It doesn't make any sense, but I keep thinking that if I didn't call Hank that night, if I had been stronger, he would be alive."

"Hank made the choice, Sara. He was involved with Elaine, and he chose to cheat on her. He kept this secret from both of you. And Alcott chose to kill him, rather than just get on with her life. Don't blame yourself."

"I said it didn't make sense," she said abashedly, dropping her eyes to the colorful flowers at their feet.

Grissom started to pull his hand back when she tensed, but instead slid it across to her far shoulder, giving her a gentle embrace before dropping his arm. When Sara slipped her hand into his, he interlaced their fingers tenderly.

"Thanks, for being here."

"It's the least I could do," he said.

"Hank was a bastard, for lying to us about the relationship," she whispered after a long silence spent over his grave. "But he didn't deserve to die like that."

"I know."

"I thought I could trust him. He helped people. It was his whole life. It never occurred to me that Hank would hurt me like that."

"He did care for you," Grissom said cautiously. "Peddigrew told Elaine that he regretted not breaking up with her to date just you."

Sara looked over to give him a sad smile. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. He lied to me and Elaine. Who's to say he wouldn't have lied to me and someone else? I mean, can you actually love two people at the same time? Hell, I'm not even sure I loved him. I wanted to, but I don't think I ever really did."

Grissom dropped his head, wishing he could take some of her pain away. "There was a box of keepsakes in his work locker. Of you, your time together. His family didn't want them. They're in my office."

"What?"

"I thought you might want something from it. Maybe not now, but in the future. There's no rush. When you feel ready to go through it, let me know."

Sara turned slightly so she faced him head on, tilting her head to read his expression closer. "You did that? Kept mementos from my ex-lover for me?"

Grissom shrugged. "I thought it would help you. I have no reason to feel jealous. He's not a threat to me," he stated, hoping it didn't sound like he was trying to convince himself.

"You never did. If I had known how you felt … Well, that's in the past. I can't do anything about that now. But, uh, there wouldn't have been any contest."

"That's nice to know," he replied uneasily.

_Let's face it, I'm equally to blame here. I didn't let Sara know how I felt, and I was shutting everyone out when my hearing started to go. _

_And I never considered how alone she was. I always saw Sara as this tower of strength. I should have realized that underneath she was hurting. She's too empathic to be able to shut out all the horrors of the job so easily. _

_Well, neither of us has to go through anything alone again. Starting now. _

"Let's go somewhere," Grissom suggested.

Sara gave him a slight smile, but shook her head. "I don't think I'm going to be in a great mood today."

He reached over to lift her head up, giving her a tender look. "All the more reason for you to be with someone who cares. You don't have to be alone ever again."

"You know, you might change your mind once you see some of the moods I can get in," she said, but rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.

"I'll take my chances."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she warned him.

He smiled slightly. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Sara said, giving Hank's grave a last look. "Goodbye."

Grissom led her across the grounds slowly, keeping their hands entwined. "How about stopping for some lunch? Or I can fix something if you want to stay in."

"You don't have to go to any trouble."

"It's not, and I'm hungry," he said. "Would you like to go to my place?"

"Yeah. I'd like that."

Her car was the closest, so Grissom led her there. Giving her hand a parting squeeze, he started to head to his own vehicle when she called out to him. Turning around, he watched as she tentatively placed her hands on his chest.

For a long moment, she stood there, her eyes trained on his tie while her fingers moved lightly over his jacket lapels. His hands lightly held her elbows as he waited for her to continue. When she remained quiet, he began to wonder if she had changed her mind. "Sara?"

"I didn't tell you before," she said, taking a deep breath and looking him in the eyes, "but I love you, too."

_The End_


End file.
